100 Ways Harry DIDN'T Find Out He Was a Wizard
by DukeBrymin
Summary: There were many ways that Harry could have been informed of his wizarding heritage--we'll visit some of them here.
1. Part 1: Nanny M

Disclaimer: All I own are the plot bunnies, and ownership there is actually shared with my co-writer. Other copyrights are, of course, owned by their copyright holders. I make no claims to them.

Author's Note: My co-writer, sassyfrass_kerr, and I decided that we wanted to write a bunch of one-shots about how Harry COULD have been introduced to the Wizarding World, by other characters besides Hagrid. The only stipulation was that each one shot had to include the line: You're a wizard, Harry! She came up with a couple of prompts, of which I chose this one. Next, I get to prompt her. Enjoy!

Title: **100 Ways Harry DIDN'T Find Out He Was a Wizard: Part 1, The Nanny**  
Word Count: 1338  
Rating: G

At the end of her rope, Nancy Polkiss finally agreed to try the new nanny that her neighbor, Evangeline, had recommended. She was a little taken aback with the old lady's appearance, but, realizing that beggars can't be choosers, didn't raise a fuss over it. She was just happy that Nanny M. didn't charge too much.

Gradually, oh so gradually, so slowly that it wasn't evident to anyone...well, almost anyone, the character of the neighborhood, and especially of Dudley's friends, seemed to be changing. Petunia, of course, didn't notice this, thinking that, as always, Dudley's friends were above reproach--certainly more acceptable than the other boy impinging on her existence. Vernon didn't notice any changes, but then, in his mind, Dudley was still a round baby in a bonnet.

Harry... well, Harry was a different story. Living in an atmosphere of fear and wariness, he had learned very early on to notice things--not in the plastic, see-through, faux-solicitous "noticing" that all the housewives of Privet Drive did, and not in the intrusive, beady-eyed way of his schoolmaster that always led to problems, and punishments, at home. Rather, Harry noticed that the new Nanny at the Polkiss' house always knew, somehow, when Piers was misbehaving, no matter the location. This strange ability of Piers' nanny was gradually effecting a change in Piers, and, by extension, the rest of Dudley's hooligans. While they still Harry Hunted, Harry found that when caught, as happened as often as not, the character of the beatings became less painful, and eventually he was allowed to get away after a few noogies to the head, and occasionally a push into the mud. Harry found this almost as exciting as when his teacher gave him new crayons for his very own at the beginning of his educational journey.

Harry noticed other things about Nanny M. too. He noticed that although she was always very strict with Piers, she seemed to take on a different disposition whenever Harry was the only child around. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that he wasn't sure what the word "love" meant, he'd probably have labelled it just that way. But perhaps the most amazing thing that Harry noticed, and the one that eventually led to the most incredible event in Harry's life (at least, that he could remember), was that she seemed to have two faces.

Now, when normal people talk about someone having two faces, it's usually not complimentary. Petunia could definitely be said to have two faces--Mrs. Number 6 knew one of them very well, having the same "neighbor" face that Petunia had. Harry, unfortunately, knew the other face very well indeed, and it caused some of his more spectacular nightmares. Nanny M. didn't have two metaphorical faces at all--she was always consistent in her treatment of people: if you were proper, respectful, and above all, kind, she treated you that way. If you weren't... well, she treated you that way too. No, Nanny M.'s two faces were, as Harry called them, the "nice old" face, and the "nice young" face. He could see that most of the denizens of his neighborhood only saw the former--they treated her as a little old lady, a nanny, curiously enough. But when Harry chanced to look at her in one of the few instances when no-one else was around, he saw beneath, or through, or around--he lacked the words to explain this adequately--the "nice old" face, to the beautiful young woman with the smiling lips and the kind eyes.

Because of this strange dual nature of Nanny M., Harry started to seek out opportunities to be near her. He never quite dared to talk to her openly, nor presume to touch her, but he found that being in her near environs helped him be calm and less unhappy than usual. As observant as he usually was, though, it took him quite awhile to notice that she seemed to be making excuses to be near him, too. At first, of course, he didn't believe this, attributing it to an overactive imagination, something that the Durselys punished harshly, and as often as they encountered it, which merely caused Harry to learn to be extremely reticent in imagining things where he could be caught. But eventually it became too obvious to deny--she really seemed to want to spend time with Harry.

A tentative friendship developed between the two, built on small words of greeting, and casual mentions of how nice the temperature was. Occasionally Nanny M. would ask how school was, which usually called forth an answer of "It's fine", or whether he was hungry, which he always denied, and which always brought about some dark muttering on her side, and the introduction of a sandwich which she just "happened" to have in her pocket, but had decided she really didn't need.

Unbeknownst to Harry, he started to thrive under the subtle caring and support of the "little old nanny of the Polkisses'". The Dursleys were somewhat surprised at this, but were grateful that they could then cut down on the amount of food they gave him, because "obviously we're feeding the freak too much!" This, of course, was noticed by Nanny M., who endeavored to ensure that "unneeded sandwiches" were more nourishing than usual, and more prevalent than before.

Time passed, as it tends to do, and Harry's eleventh birthday approached, not that this fact impinged upon his existence any. As far as Harry was concerned, there was really no need to mark the day at all, inasmuch as the only significance of it was that he now had to tell people that he was 11 rather than ten. But something strange happened the night of July 30th to the normal residents of #4 Privet Drive; Vernon was suddenly taken with the idea of taking his family to the shore. Since his "family" of course didn't include the freak in the cupboard, and since they needed the extra space in his new car for Dudley's friends, Piers being included of course, Petunia suggested to Nancy that maybe Nanny M. could mind Harry while they were gone. To Nancy's utmost shock, Nanny M. seemed delighted with the idea. Harry was delighted himself, but took great pains not to show it, having learned from sad experience that this was the quickest way to have privileges revoked and freedoms curtailed.

And so, the next morning, Harry found himself alone in the house with none other than his one friend, the "nice young"-faced Nanny McPhee. For the first time ever, he allowed himself to talk to her without worrying about being overheard. For the first time ever, he knew the touch of a kind hand on his arm. And for the first time ever, he heard about magic. Harry had known about magic of course. Once in school there was a magician who pulled rabbits out of a hat and called that magic, although Harry was sure he had seen wriggling lumps in the man's sleeves, although he didn't tell anybody what he'd seen, because "freaks never tell the truth anyway". And Harry, in his more introspective moments, had figured there was something... different... about Nanny M. that he couldn't explain using logic and school learning. But to hear Nanny talk about it, there were a lot of people who could do real magic, without having to hid small animals in uncomfortable locations. Harry was predisposed to believe anything Nanny told him, of course, since she had never lied to him, and never treated him poorly.

Perhaps the most surprising thing of all was when Nanny M. told Harry that she had known his parents, that she had, in fact, been a nanny to Harry's father, and helped him become a nice young man too, although, to be fair, it was a much less difficult journey than that of young Polkiss. But the biggest shock of Harry's young life came when she looked him in the eye and pronounced, "You're a wizard, Harry!"


	2. Part 2: Dwight

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, and The Office belongs to NBC. The plot bunny is shared between me (SassyFrass, Sandyrah, or sassyfrass_kerr–depending on which site you're on), and my partner, DukeBrymin.

**Part 2: Dwight.**

Jim turned in his desk to look at Pam again. She was staring at him with a slight frown, her forehead wrinkled in thought. When she noticed him gazing at her, she got an uncomfortable look on her face, and glanced away. Jim pursed his lips. Pam had been acting weird all day. In fact, it had started last night, when she'd abruptly ended their date.

He'd been waiting in her living room as she was finishing her make-up for their date, when he'd noticed the letter on her coffee table addressed to a Ginny. Curious, he'd asked about it when she came out of her bedroom. Pam had looked a little uncertain, as she explained that Ginny, or rather Ginevra Weasley, was her real name. She'd started going by Pam Beasley when she'd moved away from home. Her family was way too protective of her, as she was the youngest of seven children and the only girl. Not only did she have her parents constantly supervising her, but her brothers felt that they needed to keep tabs on her as well. This made it harder for them to track her down, and easier for Pam to do what she wanted. Pam had apologized for lying to him, but Jim waved it away.

"Jim's not my real name either. Or rather not my first name," he'd explained. "My middle name is James. Sometime in high school, I just decided to go by that instead of Harry."

Pam had nodded, then a queer look came over her.

"You mean your name is Harry Potter? Harry James Potter?" Her voice cracked a little on the last few words. Jim just nodded. It wasn't such an awful name, he'd simply wanted to be called something different.

"I j-just remembered something I have to finish before tomorrow. I'm sorry, Jim, I mean, Harry–"

"Jim's fine." He interrupted. She nodded, distractedly.

"Jim, but I'm going to have to cancel our date tonight. I hope that's okay?"

Perplexed, Jim nodded. Bending to kiss Pam goodnight, he was a little hurt when she turned her head, so that his lips only brushed her cheek.

When he'd arrived at work the next morning, she'd merely greeted him with a soft "Hi," and focused on her work. Jim had looked up a few times, to smile at her, or share an eye roll at Dwight's latest oddity. Every time he'd been met with that same slight frown and uncomfortable look away.

This continued past lunch, and into the afternoon. Pam had eaten lunch with him, but had been very quiet. Each of his comments and questions was answered monosyllabically. When he asked her what was wrong, she brushed him off with a "nothing," or a "just didn't sleep well last night." Frustrated, Jim couldn't help but wonder if something had come up with Roy, her ex-fiancé, or if she was upset at him for some reason.

Others in the office were starting to notice that something was going on too. Phyllis was the first one to broach the subject to Jim.

"So, how are you doing, Jim?" Phyllis's sweet tones made Jim want to groan. He knew this couldn't be leading anywhere helpful.

"I'm just fine, Phyllis. You?"

"Oh, I'm just wonderful, Jim." She paused, and Jim knew the painful part was coming. "I couldn't help but notice that Pam's upset with you. Do you need to talk about it?"

"No, Phyllis. I don't need to talk about anything."

Phyllis sighed, then turned to walk away. She paused. "You know, when my husband–Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration–thinks he did something to upset me, he buys me flowers. Sometimes I just pretend to be upset, so he'll send me flowers at work." Phyllis beamed over at her desk, where a large bouquet of red roses was prominently placed. "Anyway, you might want to try flowers." Phyllis reached over to pat Jim on the back, then went back to her desk.

Jim ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and looked back up at Pam. She smiled at him briefly. Then her eyes widened a bit and she blushed a fiery red. He watched, surprised. Jim had never seen her blush so fiercely before. He leaned back and watched her. It was surprisingly adorable, and he really wanted to kiss her. Leaning back in his chair, Jim resolved that they'd have to talk, but looking around and seeing Phyllis's watchful smile, decided he'd wait until after work, when they'd have some privacy.

Jim's gaze was caught by the last person he wanted to see just then. Toby was coming through from the kitchen, heading to Jim's desk. He did not want to talk to HR, but it was too late. Jim had made eye contact with Toby, and Pam, his usual accomplice in avoiding people, was obviously not going to help this time.

"Jim." Toby's monotone voice broke the uncomfortable silence. Jim had hoped that if he just ignored Toby, maybe the man would give up and go away. No such luck.

"Toby. What's up?"

Toby shifted, "I see that you and Pam are having problems. I guess it's a good thing you didn't bother filling out the relationship contract. Obviously this fling isn't going to last long." There was a faint smile on Toby's face that disappeared so quickly that Jim wasn't certain he'd seen it in the first place.

"Um, I don't think you understand the situation Toby." Jim turned in his seat so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash. Pam was standing behind Jim, looking at Toby with a very serious expression on her face. "This isn't a fling, and it is going to last for quite some time. So I guess we'll need to come in and fill out that paperwork after all." She stared Toby down, until he finally shrugged and muttered an agreement. He turned with shoulders slumped and headed back to his desk in the annex.

Jim didn't bother watching Toby leave, he was too busy smiling at Pam, relieved that she apparently wasn't planning on breaking up with him anytime soon. She smiled back at him, and leaned into him.

"We need to talk later, _Harry._" She added the last meaningfully. Jim nodded. Hopefully she'd explain what had been on her mind, and how it evidently had something to do with his first name. Pam leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips, and walked back to her desk. Jim watched her walk away, smiling, and didn't see Dwight get up from his desk and walk over next to him.

"Jim. May I speak with you in the conference room?" Dwight turned away without waiting for an answer. He entered the conference room and stared at Jim. Jim sighed, looked at Pam and shrugged. Then, getting up, he went to see what Dwight wanted.

Inside the conference room, Jim took a seat and eyed Dwight.

"What do you want, Dwight?" Jim asked when Dwight didn't speak up. Dwight turned to face Jim and straightened.

"Question: Why did Pam call you Harry?"

"It's my first name."

"Your name is Harry Potter?" There was a stark surprise in Dwight's voice, and Jim sat up. He'd never heard that tone from Dwight before.

"Yes, why? Pam reacted oddly to finding that out as well."

Dwight fixed his watch, and looked Jim right in the eyes. "Fact: You are a wizard, Harry."


	3. Part 3: Willy

Disclaimer: All I own are the plot bunnies, and ownership there is actually shared with my co-writer. Other copyrights are, of course, owned by their copyright holders, for details, see the A/N at the end. I make no claims to them.

Author's Note: My co-writer, sandyrah, sassyfrass, or sassyfrass_kerr, depending on the site, and I decided that we wanted to write a bunch of one-shots about how Harry COULD have been introduced to the Wizarding World, by other characters besides Hagrid. The only stipulation was that each one shot had to include the line: You're a wizard, Harry! Great thanks go to my betas, sassyfrass and rosiekatriona. Enjoy!

Title: You're a Wizard, Harry! Part 3, Willy  
Word Count: 15,635  
Rating: G

The whole neighborhood of Little Whinging was in an uproar. This might have been cause for alarm, except for the fact that its uproar was somewhat lost in the uproar that engulfed Surrey itself. But then, that wasn't a surprise, because the entirety of England was caught up in the same hysterical excitement, and not just England either. Excited childish cries could be heard from a very large white house in Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America. In the President's palace in Namibia were to be heard exclamations of joy and happiness for the same reasons. In small huts in the upper Amazon, where the only modern convenience was a radio, children danced around their parents singing about chocolate. In a ramshackle house outside of a little village in Devon, a family full of redheads, mostly boys, but also including one small girl, formed a conga line and danced through the kitchen laughing and joking about the wonderful news. In short, the celebration seemed to be common throughout the whole world.

It is, perhaps, incorrect to say that the whole world was in the same tizzy. There were some people in deepest Africa who didn't have a television, hadn't read the newspaper, and weren't prone to visiting larger towns to get the latest gossip. There were a few people living in a religious commune in the Yucatan peninsula who had sworn off any contact with the outside world, and had happened to be in a self-imposed indoors isolation retreat when the skywriting was placed in the sky. And of course, there was a certain young boy, who lived in a cupboard, who had been trained from infancy that nothing good would ever happen to him, and who didn't see the need to get himself into a frenzy over something that wouldn't ever affect him.

-----

"Mother!"

The strident tones of Dudley Dursley's bellow echoed throughout #4 Privet Drive. In his cupboard, Harry took note. In his years with the Dursleys, Harry had learned how to recognize certain situations, based on the tenor of the voice. He recognized the "Harry's done something wrong come punish him!" tone. He, of course, knew very well the "Let's go beat up Harry!" cadences, which were usually said in a leering chuckle to Dudley's so-called friends. And then there was the "I've got my parents wrapped around my finger" whine, which was employed whenever Dudley wanted to ask for something that he knew he probably shouldn't have, but lusted for anyway.

This most recent yell held a note that Harry wasn't as accustomed to hearing. It was more of a genuine surprise and excitement than anything else, and Harry immediately pressed himself up against the grate in the door to hear what was going on, in the hopes that something might actually impact his life for the better. He didn't have a lot of experience with that type of occurrence, but supposed that it was possible.

The sound of Aunt Petunia's hurried footsteps came from overhead, followed by the rapid patter of her feet on the stairs, with accompanying dustfalls and spider scurryings, as Dudley's doting mother raced to the side of her poor boy.

"What is it, Duddy-kins? What's the matter?"

Harry was happy not to see this part of the conversation, knowing that his aunt's face would be showing the anxiety that she always felt whenever anything out of the ordinary happened, and it would be an unwelcome reminder of how often he had been the cause of these extraordinary happenings.

"Mother, the telly just announced the most amazing thing!!! You know that Wonky fellow, that makes all the great chocolates and sweets?"

"Wonka, dear, his name is Willy Wonka," Petunia gently corrected him.

"That's what I said! Anyway, it said that he was going to allow some kids to come visit his chocolate factory! He's putting these golden thingies into the candy and you have to eat the candy and find the gold and if you do then you get to visit!!" Dudley was hardly able to get the words out in the proper order, he was so excited.

Harry was grateful, once again, to not be there to have to see the disgusting spectacle of his cousin slobbering and spitting pieces of food all over the place—after all, Dudley usually ate while he was watching TV, and had never yet felt the need to stop eating while talking.

"Duddy, what are you talking about? Mr. Wonka hasn't let anyone into his factory in just about forever, ever since that one boy, Bucket, I think was his name, disappeared inside and never came out. I'm sure he wouldn't try this silly golden ticket thing again!" Petunia had not even been born yet when the Bucket Scandal had taken over the consciousness of the world. All she could recall was hearing her parents talk about a group of children visiting the factory and having all sorts of problems, then one child never being seen again.

"But Ma, I heard it—they said that this was starting to happen right now!! Ma, I want to go buy some Wonka candy! Please take me! I want to find a Golden Ticket! I want to go to the chocolate place! Take me now!!!"

Dudley's pleas almost went unheeded—Petunia certainly didn't want to be party to any sort of irregular occurrence. But at that moment, the television broadcast repeated what Dudley must have heard earlier. At that proof that Dudley wasn't making it up, Petunia's maternal instincts (well, she labeled them "maternal" even though in other women they would have been labeled "coddling", and other less-than-flattering words) awoke, and she gave in to Dudley's demands.

"Okay Duddy-kins, let me get my handbag, and we'll walk down to the candy store and get you some chocolate. After all, you didn't eat very much for breakfast—". At this, Harry snorted. He had, as always, cooked breakfast that morning, and couldn't help but notice that, while true that Dudley hadn't eaten as much as normal, he had still gone through three plates of eggs, 7 slices of toast with marmalade, and a whole side of bacon.

-----------

Later that day, after Harry had finished his afternoon chores, he went for a walk. While this was not, strictly, allowed, he knew that since Uncle Vernon wasn't home yet, his aunt wouldn't make a fuss about him being gone for awhile.

As the young 10-year old was wandering through Laurel Place, he noticed a piece of paper fluttering in the gutter. He usually scanned the surroundings as he walked. It, of course, was a necessity having grown up with "Harry Hunting" being the national sport, or at least the neighborhood pastime. But, self-preservational habits aside, he found it occasionally very interesting, as there was no telling what kinds of objects wound up in the gutter, or trapped under bushes, or hidden behind trash bins. This time it proved to be a five-pound note, which he had never seen before. It looked to be a rather new one, not dirty, or ragged, or wet, or faded, or anything else that would have explained it being left where it was. It looked as if someone had just decided to put a new, clean banknote in the one place that Harry would be sure to find it, and even more, that this strange thing had happened just moments before.

Slightly nervous at the thought that this might be a prank, and glancing all around him to see if he could perhaps find the supposed pranksters, Harry slowly bent down and picked up the money. As he did so, he heard a slight 'pop' from the bushes to his side, but his quick glance over there showed nothing.

Harry now found himself at a loss as to what to do. He had never had money before, and wasn't quite sure what was "allowed". He supposed that he should probably make some effort to find the previous owner of the money, but didn't quite know how to go about it. The brief thought of asking Aunt Petunia for help crossed his mind, only to leave as soon as it entered. He had no doubts that she would confiscate the money, box his ears for having "stolen Vernon's hard-earned money", and thrown him into his closet with more force than usual. This would, of course, not lead by any stretch of the imagination to his being able to return the money.

After further thought, Harry decided that he'd look for the candy store that Dudley had previously visited. He hoped that maybe the candy store owner would be sympathetic to his plight, since Harry had never been there before, and would at least be able to tell him if there were other stores nearby. He hoped that it would still be open, although the amount of chocolate that Dudley had brought home, and subsequently consumed, made him not as optimistic of that as he would normally have been.

After some wandering around, trying to find the aforementioned store, he finally asked a likely-looking man for some guidance. He was somewhat worried about bothering a normal person with his "freakish" presence, but reasoned that the old man in question probably wouldn't be able to hit him before he could escape, so he probably wouldn't get into trouble. He had never seen this old man before, so it was unlikely that Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon knew him, although, to be truthful, it was more this old man's eccentric appearance that led him to that conclusion.

"Excuse me, sir, could you please point me to the nearest candy store?" Harry had, of course, been taught to be very respectful when approaching one's betters, and it had been drilled into his head that just about everyone he was likely to meet was his better, although on the subject of tramps and hoboes he still wasn't one-hundred percent clear.

"Hello there, young Harry," the old man said. "Why would you need to go to the candy store?"

Harry was astounded. This old man knew his name! Was Harry wrong? Did his relatives already know this man? Had they told him the normal story, that Harry was a criminal? His shock came very close to freezing him in his tracks, although there was some part of him that readied his body for an accelerated escape should one become necessary.

After a moment, when it looked as if he weren't going to be accosted, he realized that, no matter how his name was already known, he needed to answer the question posed—another of the lessons that he had been forced to learn at quite a young age was to always answer when adults were talking.

"Yes sir. I found this money—" and here Harry showed the banknote to the old man, hoping against hope that his reaction wouldn't be the same as his aunt's would have been, or worse, his uncle's.

The old man interrupted, "—and you wanted to go buy candy with it, I understand."

"No sir," Harry responded immediately. "I was going to ask the owner if he'd lost it, or knew someone who had. I know it's not mine, and wanted to return it to its owner."

The old man seemed to be unable to formulate a response to this completely unexpected statement of Harry's. He stood there, staring at the young boy, with his mouth open in amazement. The silence grew to be somewhat off-putting, until he finally shook himself, closed his mouth, then opened it again.

"Harry, that sounds like a great idea! It's wonderful that you would take the time to try to return someone's missing money to them. Tell you what, I'd like to walk with you to the candy store, if I may?"

Harry was a little taken aback by this strange man's request. He didn't think he knew this man, although it seemed apparent that the reverse wasn't quite true, and knew that he wasn't worth someone's time to escort him to a store when they could just as easily tell him the directions. But, he hadn't been hit in the entire time they had been talking, and he was starting to think that maybe this person might be someone he'd like to get to know.

"Well sir, I'm sure you don't have to. I'll be fine with directions, and I certainly wouldn't want to take up your valuable time. And I've been told not to go off with strangers, and while you seem to know who I am, I don't think my aunt and uncle would be happy if I left with you."

The old man seemed somewhat saddened by Harry's not recognizing him. But then a sneaky smile crept onto his face. "Well Harry, you and I have met before, although it was a long time ago, and it's not surprising that you wouldn't remember me. But as for who I am, you can just call me Charlie. I have to agree that your aunt and uncle wouldn't necessarily approve of me, but I promise that I won't do anything to hurt you."

Harry thought about the man's words for a bit. He thought about his limited interactions with the man, taking note especially of the fact that he hadn't once felt threatened by the man, in either actions or words. The fact that his relatives wouldn't approve of him didn't put him off especially—there were a very large amount of people that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't approve of, including Harry, so that wasn't exactly a scathing condemnation. Upon reaching this point, he made his decision.

"Okay," Harry said, "but I need to get home soon after this, because my uncle will be coming home."

With this agreement forged, the two men, taller leading shorter, made a sharp right-hand turn down Fescue Boulevard, and headed towards Bon-Bons 'n' Things, the local candy store.

It was when they arrived at the shop that the old man, Charlie, did something rather strange. He asked Harry to wait outside for a second while he talked to the owner. Harry couldn't figure out why this was, but didn't have a strong argument not to, so agreed, albeit reluctantly, since he was already pushing the amount of time he could safely spend away from his house.

But Harry didn't have to wait very long until Charlie appeared again, beckoning him inside.

"Harry, I took the liberty of explaining to Mr. Fordham what you told me about the money you found. I know that you were going to do it yourself, but wanted to make sure that he took you seriously, and sometimes these things are easier to understand if an adult explains them."

Mr. Fordham could be seen, standing behind the counter, nodding his head, although he also had a somewhat surprised look in his eyes, which combined to make him look like something amazingly wonderful had happened, but not to him personally.

Harry felt strangely pleased by Charlie's actions. Upon hearing Charlie's explanation, he had immediately felt a rush of anger that someone had dared talk about him outside of his presence and without his permission. But as Charlie continued explaining, Harry felt his anger turn into happiness. As far as he could remember, no-one had ever taken thought for his well-being and tried to make things easier for him. This was a new and somewhat uncomfortable situation, but Harry resolved to try to make the best of it.

"Thank you sir, that was very kind of you," Harry managed to get out through his surprise.

"Now now, Harry, I certainly think we've gotten past the stage where you need to be calling me sir, don't you? I would prefer it if you would call me Charlie, if you feel okay with that." All this was said with a twinkle in Charlie's eyes, as if he really would be happier being referred to in such a familiar manner.

"Oh no, sir, I don't think I could do that. If my uncle or aunt found out, I'd be in trouble." Harry said all this in a rush, hoping that Charlie wouldn't take offense and suddenly realize that he didn't need to spend any time or energy with someone as freakish as Harry.

But Charlie surprised Harry by going down on one knee, and smiling at him. "Harry, I certainly can understand that. Perhaps in the future, if we have the opportunity to see one another again, you'll feel more comfortable calling me by my name. In the meantime, why don't you talk to Mr. Fordham about that money. I need to be heading on to my home, but before I do, are you going to be able to find your way home from here?"

Harry indicated that he knew where he was--after all, he wasn't too far away from Magnolia Crescent, and from there he knew the way home, being intimately familiar with all the alleyways and paths to get past any lurking bullies and their friends.

------

Mr. Fordham turned out to be a rather genial character, as one usually is when allowed to spend a lifetime helping children be happy. He had run Bon-Bons 'n' Things ever since he had taken it over from his father, and had always enjoyed his work. Legend had been passed down from his father that it was in that very shop that Charlie Bucket had bought the Wonka bar that held his Golden Ticket. But that was a story passed on by whispers and nods, since it wasn't exactly something that needed to be on the front page of the newspaper. The Fordhams always maintained that the Bucket Scandal had been terribly overblown, and that it really wasn't as much a "scandal" as a "mystery". But they were rather in the minority, so they kept somewhat quieter about their probable link than they would ordinarily.

All this Harry found out in the first two minutes of conversation with the proprietor, for he was a very friendly man, as has been intimated, as well as talkative, and seemed to look upon Harry as his new-found best friend. Harry found himself somewhat breathless in sympathy with the candy man, even though he hadn't really had to do any talking himself. Eventually he was able to interject his question about the money that he had found.

At this point Harry was treated to a couple of minutes of praise for being so honest and upstanding, then another minute or two of discussion (rather one-sided) about how nice and new the banknote was and why someone would have just left it where it had fallen, and then the conversation stopped.

Belatedly, Harry realized that he had been asked a question. Thinking back, he realized that he didn't really have any idea what Mr. Fordham had asked. After a repeat of the question, which involved what Harry planned on doing with the money, which was quite evidently his, since he had found it, he found himself confronted with a conundrum. Having never had access to money before, he wasn't quite sure what he should do. He knew that money was very important--hearing his uncle complain daily about their supposed lack of it had drilled that into his consciousness. He knew, of course, that he himself cost an incredible amount to clothe and feed, although he wasn't exactly sure why that was, since he had never received new clothes of his own, and since Dudley always had an average of six times what was given to Harry at the table. But his aunt and uncle had been complaining about Harry since the first day they had him in their home, so he figured they probably knew better than he did himself.

"Perhaps I should buy some food for myself to eat, so Uncle Vernon doesn't have to spend so much on me." Harry hadn't realized he had said this out loud, and was rather puzzled at the brief look of anger on the previously-jovial Mr. Fordham's face. He was slightly scared by that quick transformation, but the look was replaced so quickly by the normal smile that he decided not to worry about it.

At this point, Mr. Fordham decided that he should probably step in, as events didn't seem to be playing out as would have normally been expected. Given a genuine windfall of cash, and close proximity to a candy store, most young boys, and girls too for that matter, would be only too deliriously happy to spend it all in said store. Obviously, though, Harry wasn't most young boys.

"Well young Harry, as I mentioned before, I think it's rather impressive that you wanted to find the owner and give the money back to them. I think you deserve a reward for that." Mr. Fordham was particularly pleased with himself for having come up with an alternate method to carry out his assigned part of the plan. But, he hadn't counted on Harry's native honesty and integrity.

"Oh no, sir, I could never accept a reward for just trying to do what's right. After all, I already have the money, why would I need anything else?" Harry, by this point, was getting genuinely worried about making it back to the house before his uncle, and was starting to think about just bidding the proprietor goodbye, and walking out. Although, having been berated through much of his life for his supposed bad manners, he couldn't quite bring himself to do so.

Mr. Fordham was stumped. He knew that his actions were vital to the whole plot, although he wasn't sure why, and was just about frantic with worry that he'd mess up somehow. In his panic, though, he accidentally brushed too close to the candy counter, and heard a small 'thwack' as something fell to the ground. He bent down to pick up the fallen object, and was lucky he did so, as that was when he had The Idea. The Idea was so simple, really, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it before. Rising back up with the fallen item in hand, he put a disgruntled look on his face, and let out a deep sigh.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" asked Harry. He was rather worried that he might have done something to upset the nice candy-store man. He didn't think he had, but long experience had taught him that he wasn't a good judge of what might upset some people.

Mr. Fordham immediately noticed the look of trepidation on Harry's young face, and hastened to reassure him. "No, no! No, nothing's wrong--I just accidentally knocked this candy bar on the floor, and now I won't be able to sell it. I hate having to throw candy away, especially when there's nothing wrong with it except for a bit of dust. But that's what the law says."

Harry, at this point, got a very puzzled look on his face. "Mr. Fordham, please forgive me for asking, but why wouldn't you be able to sell it? A little dirt on food doesn't mean you can't eat it. If I were that picky---" Here Harry realized that he probably shouldn't continue his sentence. While what he had been about to say was strictly true, it most likely fell under the category called "Things Freaks Don't Need to Bother Other People About", which category was surprisingly vast.

That look crossed Mr. Fordham's face again--the one that he had seen before, of barely-suppressed anger. Harry happened to be looking down at his shoes at the time, embarrassed about what he had almost said, but he did catch some mumbled phrases emanating from the candy man.

"If I ever.... ruddy cows... for shame... can't imagine... just a boy..."

Whatever had made Mr. Fordham so angry seemed to be something other than Harry, so he looked up again and asked if there were something he could do to help.

"Well, seeing as how I can't sell this candy bar any more, and you're here and I hate to waste a perfectly good Wonka's Almost-As-Good-As-A-Real Chocolate Frog, why don't you go ahead and take it? It's a rather new invention from Wonka, and they say that they're trying to make a version that really moves like a frog."

Harry wasn't sure what to think about this previously-unexperienced generosity. He thought about it, and compared it with past experiences. There had been times when Dudley had offered him something, only to snatch it away again, or worse, give it to him then tell his father that Harry had stolen it. But he knew that the kindly man wasn't Dudley, and hadn't acted in any way like his oafish cousin. Coming to the conclusion that he could probably run away if necessary, and wouldn't ever have to see the man again if it came to that, he accepted the candy.

Curiously, Mr. Fordham breathed a huge sigh, almost as if he were exceedingly relieved that he'd been able to give the chocolate to Harry. Harry filed this away as just another strange thing that adults do, and put the chocolate in his pocket.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Mr. Fordham was very anxious about the answer to this question. He wasn't exactly sure what would happen when Harry did, but since it played such a vital part in the plan, it must be something special.

"Oh no, sir, I really must be going. Thank you for all you've done, and I'd love to stay and visit some more, but I have to get home before my uncle notices that I'm not there. Good-bye!" And with this, Harry was off, running as hard as he could towards his house.

-----

Thankfully, Harry made it to #4 Privet Drive before Uncle Vernon arrived, and was able to slip into his cupboard unnoticed by Aunt Petunia or Dudley. Once there, he pulled out the Wonka's Almost-As-Good-As-A-Real Chocolate Frog and hid it back in the smallest part of the cupboard, where he kept all the treasures that he didn't want the Dursleys to know about. After ensuring that no-one would be able to see the wrapper even if they were to put their head inside the door, he exited and started working on his chores.

Later that evening, after clearing the table, washing the dishes, mopping the floor, and spending his allotted two minutes in the bathroom, Harry retired to his cupboard, anxious to examine, and perhaps open, the wrapper of his Wonka's Almost-As-Good-As-A-Real Chocolate Frog and see what he'd been given. He'd never heard of this type of sweet before, which was rather strange as Dudley had made it a point to parade all his sweets and candies and chocolates and cakes and biscuits and lollipops and other tooth-rotting and fattening puddings in front of Harry, and tell him in excruciating detail how delicious they were. Harry supposed that Mr. Fordham's explanation of it being a 'rather new invention' was accurate, and put the matter aside. Slowly, silently, he reached for the candy, and pulled it towards him where he could see better what the wrapper looked like. It was garishly striped in turquoise and maroon, two colors that reminded him more of his schoolteacher's hair and Uncle Vernon's face than anything else. Of course, Harry realized, they hadn't really asked his opinion as to the packaging, although if asked, he certainly would have been willing to suggest a more, shall we say, _subdued_ color scheme, perhaps one that suggested a frog, or chocolate, or _anything_ non-violent.

The writing on the wrapper, what he could make out through the eye-jarring decoration, informed him that this was, in fact, a Wonka's Almost-As-Good-As-A-Real Chocolate Frog, apparently with "Real-Life-Like Eyes, and Webbed Feet!" But what really caught his attention was the assertion that this Frog, although being formed exclusively from chocolate, had "Genuine Frog-Like Croaking Noise!" Harry had never heard of a sweet making noise before, except for the Toot-Sweets that Dudley had once bought, on the mistaken assumption that they made the consumer pass gas, an assumption that provided for brisk sales, but many disappointed young customers. But, he supposed, he certainly wasn't up-to-date on advances in candy-making science, and for all he knew, they could make one that jumped as well as made croaking sounds when squeezed.

Having never had a whole chocolate bar to himself, he was a little bit concerned as to the best way to open the package. Would he get in trouble for ripping the paper? Was there a specific end that he needed to open first? What he really needed, he realized, was opening instructions. Once again, if he ever had the opportunity to put forth an opinion about packaging, he would suggest that they maybe put a little diagram at one end showing how and where to open the wrapper.

Eventually deciding that he probably wouldn't get into trouble no matter how he opened the paper, he chose an end, and very carefully tore it a little bit. After waiting a decent interval, on the off chance that one of the Dursleys might have heard, or the Chocolate-Opening Police would be alerted, he finished tearing off the end. Looking inside, he saw a deep brown leg, which he supposed looked kind of like a frog's leg, albeit one that looked rather more tasty than normal frogs' legs are wont to do. But, to his great surprise, he saw something else, something golden. Fingers shaking, he up-ended the package and watched as the Wonka's Almost-As-Good-As-A-Real Chocolate Frog fell out onto his bed. And then It fell out, fluttering slightly as it descended to lie gently on his bed. A Golden Ticket.

Now, Harry was not so cut off from the world that he didn't know what a Golden Ticket was. He had, of course, overheard Dudley yelling at his mother about the whole idea, and had caught snatches of conversation from other children in the neighborhood. Knowing about it, however, was much different than actually seeing a Golden Ticket. And far from just seeing a Ticket, Harry actually had found one for himself! He didn't really know what to do--nothing in his wildest flights of fantasy, which were rather tame, actually, and mostly had to do with getting enough to eat and a good night's sleep, had prepared him for the idea that he would be able to tour the world-famous Wonka's Chocolate Factory. His first thought was, quite naturally, "There is no way I'm telling any of the Dursleys about this!" He knew beyond any doubt that if a hint of his good fortune were to reach their ears that the Ticket currently lying on his thin mattress would be confiscated and he would never have the pleasure of even seeing it again, let alone using it.

He had a perfectly good hiding place in the narrow part of the cupboard, but he was rather worried that even it might not be enough, so he commenced a search of his cupboard to see if, perchance, there was another, better place that he could stash his incredible find. He didn't have a lot of hope--having lived in said cupboard for most of his almost-eleven years, he knew it intimately--but tonight seemed to be a night of blessed good fortune. On one side wall, up towards the top, the wallboard had pulled slightly away from the studs, leaving a gap, into which Harry could slide something thin, small, and highly valuable. He positioned himself in such a way as to imitate his uncle poking his head into the small space, and felt rather pleased that the new hidey-hole wasn't anywhere close to being visible. It was only if one put one's head all the way to the foot of the bed, and looked up slantwise towards the top, that it was even noticeable as an imperfection in the wall.

Before hiding the Ticket in its new home, however, Harry noticed that there was writing on it. The writing was done in a rather old-fashioned script, which read thusly:

_Congratulations! It gives me more pleasure than I can express to present to you this Golden Ticket! That which you hold in your hand is your passport to more excitement and thrills than you can even begin to imagine. Please present yourself promptly at 8:00 AM on Saturday, July 31st, at the front gates of Wonka's Chocolate Factory. You may bring with you one (1) parent or guardian, if you so desire, to accompany you on this incredible excursion. Thrills and wonders await you, so prepare yourself for a day you'll never forget!_

Harry was more excited than he had ever been in his life. He, of course, wouldn't be inviting any of the Dursleys to go with him--that would involve telling them what he had. He decided, though, that it wouldn't be a bad idea to have an adult that he trusted go with him. The only problem was that he didn't know of any adult that fit the bill. This would definitely bear further thinking.

-----

With only a week to go, Harry had a brilliant thought. Charlie had been very nice to him—maybe he wouldn't mind accompanying him to the Chocolate Factory. The flaw in this plan, though, was that Harry had no idea how to contact the old man. After some thought, while mowing the front lawn, he decided that the only thing for it was to go back to the candy store and ask Mr. Fordham if he knew how to get in touch with the kindly gentleman. Having made his decision, he starting trying to figure out how to find the time to go on his excursion.

Luckily, the next day the perfect opportunity was provided to him. Dudley, having grown so big that Uncle Vernon's old Smeltings uniform wouldn't fit him, a feat that Harry would have believed impossible had he not seen it with his own two eyes, had to be taken into London for shopping. Aunt Petunia arranged with batty old Mrs. Figg for the care and feeding of Harry for the day, but Harry knew that he'd be able to take a quick trip to the store.

After securing Mrs. Figg's permission, he walked the few blocks to where he remembered Mr. Fordham's store being. Upon entering the establishment, he was greatly taken aback to see that the entire place was packed. Children of all shapes and sizes were clamoring for something from poor beleaguered Mr. Fordham. After listening for a bit, he realized that the most-requested item was the Wonka's Almost-As-Good-As-A-Real Chocolate Frog. He considered that it had probably made quite a hit amongst the neighborhood children—he himself had greatly enjoyed the sweet, and thought that perhaps in the future he might be able to buy himself another one.

Standing unobtrusively towards the back, Harry quietly watched the crowd of youngsters, noticing the incredible variation in hair color and size. One set of children particularly drew his attention, as they had the brightest hair of anyone he'd ever seen. It was a flaming red, that looked like it would probably glow at night. Harry tried to count the red-heads, a job made very difficult due to the constant motion of the crowd. He thought there might be three or four of them, at least, of the child-sized variety, and one adult woman, who seemed to be constantly correcting, chiding, and remonstrating a pair of the redheaded boys. Although it seemed as though she was mostly being ignored, Harry did notice that the shortest of the redheads, who must be a girl, judging from the length of her hair, which was almost to her waist, seemed to be listening to the woman and giggling to herself at the antics of the others.

Watching the family, for such he supposed it must be, he was overcome with a desire to have the same type of relationship that he saw in the redheaded family. He didn't know what it would be like to have a brother, or a sister, although he supposed it must be better than having a bullying cousin. But what really tugged on his heartstrings was the obvious love emanating from the mother of the children. She certainly wasn't completely calm and loving at all times, he could tell just from her interactions with her children, but neither was her face tinged with the perpetual sneer of Aunt Petunia. She just looked like a loving mother who occasionally lost her patience with her children.

As Harry had been standing there watching the mother, the little girl had, unnoticed by Harry, migrated closer to him. In fact, she seemed to be coming over to him with a purpose in mind. Harry, to the best of his memory, had never seen this girl before, and couldn't think of why she would be wanting to talk to him.

"Hi there," she chirped. "I'm Ginny. What's your name?"

Harry was a bit taken aback by her overt friendliness, but responded courteously to her inquiry.

"I'm Harry."

At this, the young girl's eyes flickered up, for the briefest of instants, to his forehead. Harry couldn't think of why she'd be interested in his forehead. Maybe his scar was showing. He wasn't exactly embarrassed about the lightning-bolt scar that he sported, but didn't exactly like the attention it attracted, so he had, as usual, combed his fringe down over it that morning.

Obviously his hair was still hiding the scar, for the girl looked back into his eyes and continued chattering at him, although Harry noticed a faint sound of disappointment in her voice.

"Harry's a great name! You must be really lucky to have such a wonderful name! Do you know the story of Harry--"

At this point, the girl's mother interrupted her. "Ginny! Are you bothering this poor young boy?"

"No, Mum! I was just introducing myself to him. He wasn't looking like he was having very much fun, and I wanted to see why not," came Ginny's reply.

Harry hadn't thought he was looking particularly sad or depressed, but then, he supposed, if one was continually surrounded by the cheer evident in the redheaded family, his neutral, careful watchfulness might be mistaken for bad humor.

"Hello young man, are you all right?" Ginny's mother, having been successfully diverted from her interrogation by the prospect of a youngling with a problem, immediately latched onto Harry as a possible beneficiary of her mothering.

"Yes ma'am. I'm fine. I just needed to talk to the proprietor, but didn't want to get in the way of anyone buying candy."

The redheaded woman looked a little taken aback at Harry's answer.

"You mean you didn't come to buy chocolate? All my children begged and pleaded with me to bring them here because of the rumors."

At this point Ginny inserted herself into the conversation. "No, Mum, not _all_ your children—Bill and Charlie are gone, and Percy didn't want to come!"

"Yes dear, you're right, Percy would rather study than come to the candy store, especially since he'd have to miss more time due to the travel."

Ginny looked at Harry, and explained that they actually lived outside of Devon, in a hamlet called Ottery St. Catchpole.

Harry had never heard of this small village, but that didn't surprise him any—there were many places that he was sure he hadn't heard of. His world primarily consisted of Little Whinging, and, occasionally, London when on shopping trips with the Dursleys.

The nice woman then turned her attention back to Harry. "I'm sure I don't know why we had to come all the way to Surrey for chocolates when there's a perfectly good candy store in town."

Ginny was aghast at her mother's comment. "But, Mum, don't you remember? This is the place where the Golden Ticket was found!"

Harry just about had a heart attack at hearing what Ginny said. How had she known that he had found a Golden Ticket? He hadn't told anyone, and was sure that no-one had found it in the closet. Mr. Fordham didn't even know, and aside from him and Charlie, no-one had even known he'd gone to that particular candy store. His heart beating at twice its normal rate, he surreptitiously prepared himself to run out the door if it proved necessary.

Fortunately, Ginny's mother defused the situation with her next comments. "Ginny, even if this _were _the right place, that was 50 years ago! That doesn't mean that there's any greater chance that one of the Golden Tickets will be found here than any other of the millions of candy stores in the world. Honestly, you children, saving up all your gold, I mean pounds, just so you could come here and try to get a Golden Ticket. Why you can't save it for your trips to Hogsmeade I'll never understand."

Harry was sure he'd heard the lady comment about "gold", but that thought was driven out of his head by the mention of a place called Hogsmeade. He hadn't ever heard of that city either, but it sounded slightly familiar, as if he'd dreamt about it, or it had been mentioned in passing in his earlier childhood.

"What's Hogsmeade?" he asked the woman, whom he was starting to think of as a wonderful mother. She was not _his_ mother, of course, but he felt that maybe she'd be at least willing to treat him as if he weren't a nuisance, as a mother should. He hadn't met very many good mother figures in his life; Aunt Petunia certainly wasn't one in his eyes, although he postulated that perhaps to Dudley she was.

"Oh, um," and, surprisingly, she seemed rather flustered. "It's the closest town to the school that my children attend. It's up in Scotland, and they have the opportunity to go to the village on certain weekends throughout the school year. Usually they spend all their money there at the sweet shop."

At this point their conversation was interrupted, or rather, shattered, by the appearance of the three other redheaded children. Two were, Harry noticed, identical twins, whereas the third was a young boy, slightly smaller than the twins, but taller than both Harry and Ginny.

Through their confused chatter, Harry understood that they were done buying their sweets. One of the twins handed a small bag to Ginny, saying "Here you are, ickle Gin-Gin. Trust your brother George to fulfill his quest for his favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister, you prat, and you're Fred, not George," was her answer, although the severity of the words was belied by the smile on her face. "And thank you for being willing to buy my candy for me."

"Of course," Fred said. "We wouldn't want you to get trampled by that mob in front of the counter. Besides, it gave us a great opportunity to prank your sweets!" This last sentence was said in a much lower tone of voice, apparently out of a desire to ensure that his mother didn't hear it.

Harry was rather startled by Fred's words. His only experience with pranks were of the unkind sort, that usually ended in embarrassment, pain, or both. He urgently took Ginny's hand and drew her away from the rest. "Do you think Fred really _did_ prank your sweets?"

"What? Oh, that. No, he knows better than to do that to me. He's just teasing me."

Ginny's blithe dismissal of the possibility didn't make Harry feel too reassured, but he supposed that she knew her brothers better than he did. His curiosity took front stage now, and he asked her what she had asked Fred to buy for her.

She pulled him farther over to the corner so they'd be out of sight of her mother, let go of his hand (somewhat reluctantly, if truth be known), and opened the bag. Reaching her hand inside, she pulled out two garishly-wrapped chocolate bars.

"Well, this one is a Wonka's Nougatalicious Noggin-Knocker. It's supposed to be so good it makes you feel like your head is exploding." Harry didn't know whether that was a good endorsement or not, but didn't want to argue with this person, who was fast becoming Harry's very first friend.

"And this other one is a Wonka's Creamy Caramel Chocolectable! I've always loved caramel, but this is supposedly the best caramel ever created, and it comes with a collectible card showing a famous fictional character from children's literature."

Harry could tell that Ginny was a naturally happy girl. The glow from her smile was infectious, and he found himself grinning back, extraordinarily glad that he'd had the opportunity to visit the candy store today. Recognizing that it was her presence that had made him feel so happy made him exceedingly eager to share something with her. Casting about in his memory for something to share, he came to the conclusion that there was really only one happy thing in his life.

"Ginny, do you want to know a secret?"

Ginny's smile, if possible, became even brighter. "Of course, I love secrets. Well, I guess I don't love secrets that my brothers keep from me—that happens way too often. But it would sure be fun to have a secret from them, for a change."

Her enthusiasm served to quell the last remnants of worry that he had. But he felt he should probably impress on her the importance of keeping it quiet.

"Okay, I'll tell you, but you have to promise to not tell anybody, okay?"

"Of course—I would never betray a secret of one of my best friends." Ginny turned a little pink at saying this, and looked shyly down at her shoes for a bit. Glancing back up at him, she was happy to see that he hadn't gotten upset at her presumption, and was, in fact, smiling even more than before.

Harry, having never had a best friend before, was ecstatic. He had hoped that she would consider him a friend, but had never even entertained the notion that she might think of him as anything more than "that guy I met in the chocolate store". This was beyond his wildest dreams. He realized that he might not ever see her again, since she lived so far away, but at least he'd know that somewhere in the world, he had a friend.

"Okay, here's my secret. The other day, I got a candy bar from here, and it had a Golden Ticket inside."

It was a tribute to Ginny's nature, that she didn't doubt Harry in the least. She trusted him, despite having known him for only a little while, and he didn't have the feel of someone who was lying to her—something she'd had a _lot _of experience with, thanks to her siblings. She was, however, rather astounded at the shyness with which he announced this secret of his. Had it been she who had found a Golden Ticket, she would have been screaming it from the top of her house.

Eventually she realized that the silence between them had stretched to the point of discomfort, and that Harry was looking rather disappointed, as if he thought she would call him a liar, or worse.

"Really? That's wonderful! How did you feel? That must have made your parents so happy!"

Harry's face, which had started to relax again when Ginny started talking, turned sad again by the end of her last sentence.

"I don't have any parents—I live with my aunt and uncle," Harry whispered.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for you. Are _they _at least happy for you?" Ginny hoped that she could make things right, after having so unexpectedly caused this sad note to enter into their conversation.

"Well, I haven't exactly told them." And with that, Harry gave her a quick explanation as to what would happen if the Dursleys ever found out about the Golden Ticket. Ginny was sure that there was more about his relationship with his caretakers that he wasn't saying, but didn't want things to get even more depressing than they already were.

"So, have you decided whether you're going to take someone with you?" Ginny thought about suggesting that he ask her mother, but didn't think that he would be too comfortable with that, and didn't really want the fuss that would come with her mother getting involved. Her mother was well-known for blowing things way out of proportion, and would almost certainly insist on telling Harry's Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Ginny's mother was very loving, and took very good care of her children, but this led to one of her major failings--the inability to believe that any parent would do less than their best in taking care of a child. This would, of course, be disastrous in Harry's situation.

Harry then explained about the old man, and how he had hoped to find out how to contact him via the owner of the candy shop. "But I haven't been able to get up to the front to even ask Mr. Fordham."

Ginny got a calculating look on her face, and Harry could tell that she was trying her hardest to figure out how to get him what he needed.

"Okay, here's what we'll do. We need to sneak over there next to that tall man--" But she didn't get any further in her explanation, as, at that point, Harry interrupted.

"That's him! That's Charlie! I don't know why I didn't see him before."

"Maybe he was invisible, and just appeared there when we needed him," was Ginny's suggestion. Harry just chuckled at that, but, surprisingly, Ginny didn't seem to think it was as funny as he did.

"Well, whatever the reason, let's go ask him right now."

The two children made their way over to Charlie, who looked like he were examining the merchandise for possible purchase.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry said, tentatively.

"What did I tell you about calling me 'sir'?" Charlie responded with a large smile on his face. "I'll always be Charlie to you, Harry. Now, what did you want?"

"Well, um, I'm not sure how to tell you. But, see, when I was here last time, Mr. Fordham gave me a chocolate bar, and it had one of the Golden Tickets in it."

"Did it? That's fantastic, Harry! I'm so happy for you."

Charlie seemed genuinely happy for Harry, but Ginny noticed that the surprise on his face seemed a little too forced to be completely natural. If she'd known him better, she might have said something, but was a little reticent, since this was Harry's friend, not hers. At least, he wasn't her friend yet.

Harry nervously continued, "Well, the thing is, the ticket says I can have one parent or guardian. I don't have a parent or guardian who'd be willing to accompany me. I don't think it's absolutely necessary that I have an adult with me, but I don't think I'd want to be the only one there without one. So, I was wondering--do you think you'd be willing to come with me?"

At this request, Charlie's face froze. Harry was rather concerned at the strange look in Charlie's eyes, but didn't know what to make of it. Charlie, for his part, didn't know what to say either. He had never anticipated this happening, and was at a loss for how to proceed. He certainly couldn't agree to help the boy get to the Factory--that was completely out of the question. Perhaps... yes, that would work.

"Harry, I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but I don't think I can do that--I'm going to be too busy that day, and wouldn't be able to take the time necessary to be your guardian on the tour. But, I've had a thought. I have a friend that lives near you--we went to school together, and I've kept in touch over the years. She's a very sweet lady, and I'm sure she'd be willing to take you to the tour. She might even enjoy it for herself. Would you be willing to have her go with you instead?"

Harry was rather saddened by this news, although he supposed that it was better than he had any right to expect. "Well, okay, but I'm a little nervous about meeting this friend of yours. Do you think you could introduce us?"

"I'm sorry Harry, I can't right now, but perhaps tomorrow we can go. Can you meet me there? It's a little yellow house at #6 Magnolia Crescent."

Yet another surprise in a rather long line of surprises hit Harry as he realized that the address given was none other than that of batty old Mrs. Figg. "You know Mrs. Figg?" he exclaimed, his shock causing him to speak rather abruptly.

Charlie was also surprised at finding out that Harry knew Mrs. Figg so well. "Why yes, she is the school-mate I was talking about. How do you know her?"

Harry explained that she was the babysitter that the Dursleys depended on to watch Harry when they needed to leave him behind, which was, of course, quite often.

After a little more conversation, in which Harry finally remembered his manners and introduced Ginny to Charlie, who was fast becoming Harry's second friend, the trio parted ways. Ginny and Harry headed back toward her family, who were busy looking through their purchases and comparing the wonderful treats they had found. Ginny's mother had threatened them all with vague, yet terrifying punishments if they opened any of their purchases in that mob of people. "After all, what if you actually did have a Ticket inside? It would cause a stampede!" Harry and Ginny giggled together at that, knowing the secret that they did.

After rejoining the rest of Ginny's family, Harry bid them farewell, knowing that he needed to get back to Mrs. Figg's house, both because she would be expecting him soon, but also to discuss her being able to accompany Harry to the Chocolate Factory. But, as Harry was just about to leave, Ginny pulled him aside to whisper urgently in his ear.

"Harry, I'm a little bit worried about Charlie."

"Why is that, Ginny? He seems perfectly nice to me, and has been very helpful."

"There is just something that doesn't add up. When you were telling him about the Factory tour, you never told him when it was. But he already knew he was going to be too busy on that day. How did he find out the date?"

"Didn't they announce it over the telly?"

"I don't know about that, Harry, we don't watch much of that. But the newspaper just said that the date would be announced later, after all the Tickets had been found."

"But my Ticket had the date on it--maybe that means I'm not supposed to tell anyone when it will be until there's a public announcement made."

"But that still doesn't explain how Charlie knew about the date already."

This was all very startling for Harry--he couldn't explain it to his own satisfaction, but he couldn't believe that Charlie had any evil intentions.

"I don't know, Ginny--maybe he is going out of town for the next couple of months, and just figured he'd be busy. But, whatever the reason, I don't think it's enough to make me not like him. But I will pay a little more attention when I next see him, to see if there's anything I should be concerned about."

Ginny figured that this was acceptable, and bid her new friend goodbye. Feeling daring, she stepped in and gave Harry a hug. Harry was shocked at this. He had seen a hug before, but had never, as far as he could remember, been the recipient of one. It felt . . . nice. It was warm, and comforting, and he decided that he could certainly understand why people seemed to be hugging a lot in those shows that Aunt Petunia watched in the middle of the day. He finally realized that he could put his arms around Ginny, and did so, albeit stiffly. He was rewarded with one of her brilliant smiles, and felt an answering smile on his own face.

"Thanks Ginny, for being my friend. I hope we see each other again." Had Harry been older, he would have thought to ask Ginny for her phone number, or perhaps her address, although the chances of being able to either use the Dursleys' phone to make a long-distance call, or use their precious envelopes and stamps to send her a letter were miniscule at best.

"You're very welcome, Harry, I'm so glad we decided to come to the candy store today. Perhaps I'll ask Mum to let me take the Knight Bus and come visit you." Ginny didn't think that was very likely, but her parents had consistently taught her to respect them enough to at least ask them for permission, for they would never punish her just for asking.

"What's the night bus? I've never heard of it before," Harry asked.

"Oh, um, it's a bus that runs during the night and takes people to special places." Ginny hoped that this slight shading of the truth would be enough to answer his question without causing too much trouble.

"That'd be magical, Ginny!" At this, Ginny got a very funny look on her face, but before she could say anything, her mother came over and collected her for their return trip.

"Goodbye, Harry! Thanks for everything!" she called as she was being led away.

"Goodbye, Ginny, my first friend," Harry called back, although the last part was much softer, so much so that he was the only one who heard it.

---------

Harry's subsequent conversation with Mrs. Figg was rather interesting, punctuated many times by Mrs. Figg's exclamations of disbelief and surprise that Harry should be lucky enough to find a Golden Ticket. She was, of course, very pleased to agree to accompanying him to the Factory, and even conspired with him to request his help on the day in question, so that he'd have a reason to be gone from the Dursleys'. Harry wasn't sure that it would be enough to hide his activities, as he was rather sure that Dudley would drag his parents down to the gates of the Factory to see the whole celebration, but after weighing the pros and cons, decided that it would be worth being locked in his cupboard for quite some time to be able to tour the Factory.

The rest of the week passed very slowly for Harry, as it usually does when anticipating something extraordinary. About the only thing of note was that Harry walked in on a furious argument that his aunt and uncle were having over where to send Harry to school. Aunt Petunia wanted him to go away, so that she didn't have to see him every day, but Uncle Vernon was equally adamant that he not go to Smeltings, his old school, where Dudley would be going. Since any opinion he cared to venture would be seen as "sticking his freakish nose into respectable business"--he just went on his way out to weed the flowerbed.

Eventually the fated day came. Aunt Petunia woke Harry up extra early on the 31st of July, which meant that Harry hadn't had as much sleep as he was used to, since he had stayed up until midnight to mark his birthday--it was the only birthday celebration he would have, since he figured that there was no way that anyone in the Factory would know it was his special day. But he was resigned to this, figuring that it was a rather fair trade-off. After making breakfast for his impressively overweight cousin and uncle, and his gaunt aunt, he was sent off unceremoniously to Mrs. Figg's house, with the admonition to "make sure you do everything she says, and don't do anything weird". He had never been as excited to leave as he was this day, and as soon as he was out of sight of #4, ran as fast as he could to Magnolia Crescent.

Mrs. Figg answered Harry's frantic knocking on her door with a "Merciful Merlin, Harry, don't scare me like that!"

Harry was in no shape to notice her strange phrasing, as he was much too excited to get going to the Factory, which was probably a blessing in disguise. After enduring Harry's excited bouncing for exactly four minutes, Mrs. Figg agreed that they should leave then, even though it would get them to the Factory quite a bit earlier than the stated 8:00.

The mis-matched couple walked for a short while, until they found a taxi which they hailed and directed to drive to the Factory gates. The cabby, upon finding out their destination, spent the next ten minutes chattering their ear off about how he had once driven the Buckets, the parents of the boy who had supposedly been lost inside the factory, to the market one day. Harry thought that maybe the driver was somewhat mistaken, as the couple would have to have been rather old, and the driver still in primary school for the timing to have worked out, but he knew better than to contradict any adults in his vicinity.

Harry and his companion arrived at the front gates of the Wonka Chocolate Factory with 20 minutes to spare. They were amazed at the size of the crowd that had already gathered, and Harry just about turned around to go back home. He had never had a good experience with crowds. Well, that wasn't strictly true, he decided. The crowd at Mr. Fordham's candy store had turned out to be a good thing; he had met his new best friend there, and that was certainly all to the good. This crowd didn't promise to be as nice, as there were quite a few very large adults there, which reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon. Thinking of him, he remembered that Dudley and Aunt Petunia were planning on coming to the spectacle, and made a mental note to be aware of his surroundings, so as not to come within grabbing proximity.

Mrs. Figg proved to be a godsend in the crowd. Sometime in her past she must have been a policewoman, or something similar, as she proved by opening up a path straight through the crowd to the area that had been roped off for the lucky children who were to be given their tours today. Harry tugged on her sleeve as they approached, and asked her if they could wait outside the lucky circle until it was the last minute, so that he wouldn't be seen by his relatives. She understood immediately, and took up a post right by the entrance, with Harry somewhat in her shadow, so as to keep him less visible to any undesirable Dursleys.

As they stood and waited, Harry kept a keen eye out to see if he could spot any of the other lucky Ticket finders. The television had been curiously silent on who had found Tickets--not like the last time, when the finding of a Ticket heralded a media frenzy similar to sharks and chum. Endless speculation filled the airwaves, but nary a word identifying the finders passed the lips of the well-coiffed newscasters. Consequently, then, Harry was rather anxious to find out who his companions on this visit would be.

With five minutes to go, Harry noticed a commotion in the crowd, heading towards the entrance to the red-carpeted area. As he watched from the safety of Mrs. Figg's shadow, a young girl, perhaps ten or eleven years of age, entered the area set aside for the Finders. She had rather bushy, brunette hair, looked very curious as to everything that was going on, and had rather pronounced buck teeth. She had with her what looked like her mother, who had the same color hair, albeit slightly tamer, and a beautiful white smile, although it was starting to look a little strained. The young girl seemed to be talking incessantly to her mother, and it looked like most of the conversation involved questions that the mother tried to answer, although her answers usually ended up being overridden by the next question. Harry thought that these two looked nice, although somewhat intimidating.

Slowly the clock on the tower behind the fence crept towards 8:00, and Harry looked around to see if someone else was going to appear and join the girl and her mother in the center. As no-one else came, the bushy-haired girl started to look more and more anxious, as if there were something wrong; perhaps she had arrived at the wrong place, or come too early, or something like that. Harry noticed that she kept pulling out her Golden Ticket and re-reading it, checking, he supposed, to see if there were any instructions that she could have missed. Harry wondered if there had really only been two people to find Golden Tickets, and whether there had been any more produced, and what Wonka would do if someone found a Ticket after today. The clock started striking 8:00, and Mrs. Figg took Harry by the elbow while saying "Okay, Harry dear, it's time to go in."

Harry took a deep breath, straightened up to his fullest height, which was much less imposing than he'd hoped it would be, and the two walked forward. From the left side he heard an incredulous shout. "Mum, what's the Freak doing here?" It was Dudley, who'd noticed his cousin almost in an instant. Harry looked down, tightened his grip on Mrs. Figg's arm, and almost pulled her past the ropes separating the red carpet from the rest of the mob. Just as he got to the center, though, he found himself the center of a maelstrom of words and arms, and a whirlwind of red seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Harry, Harry! Where have you been? I've been searching the crowd for you and couldn't find you and I was afraid that you weren't going to make it, or that you couldn't find someone to come with you. Can you believe it? I found a Ticket too! It was in my Wonka's Creamy Caramel Chocolectable! I didn't get the fictional character collectible card, but this was so much better! I was so excited to find it and know that I'd be able to go on the tour with my best friend, but I didn't know how to contact you and let you know what was happening, so I've been looking for you all morning! But you're here now and I'm so happy!" Ginny seemed, at this point, to run out of breath. Or at least, Harry thought, she might have realized that there was no way he could answer her if she kept talking so fast.

"Hi, Ginny, it's so good to see you again! I was kind of hiding, 'cause I knew my relatives were going to be here, and didn't want them to see me any sooner than I had to." Harry felt somewhat out of breath, even though he hadn't said all that much. He realized that it was just Ginny that made him feel that way, and decided that it was okay, and actually made him feel happy that there was someone so excited about life.

At Harry's answer, Ginny started looking around, as if trying to spy out the aforementioned Dursleys. Harry gently turned her towards where he had heard Dudley's voice, and pointed out his Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Shock was written across their features, and they were gesticulating wildly and shouting that he was a little thief and had stolen the Ticket from Dudley. Granted, by all rights Dudley _should_ have found one, he had certainly eaten enough chocolate that just the law of averages should have ensured that. But perhaps that law wasn't the only operative force in this whole venture.

After pointing out his relatives to Ginny, and hearing quite a few snide remarks from the girl that made him want to laugh out loud, he turned her towards Mrs. Figg to introduce her and her mother to his temporary guardian for the day, only to feel his mouth drop open and his eyebrows lift almost off his forehead. Mrs. Figg and Ginny's mother were chattering away like old friends. This was no less astounding to Ginny, who couldn't think of any reason that Harry's babysitter would be one of her mother's acquaintances. Ginny and Harry shared a look, but as neither one had any answers, they turned back to the chattering duo.

At a break in the conversation, Harry went to introduce Ginny to Mrs. Figg, feeling that at least he should satisfy the demands of politeness in that regard, but Ginny's mother beat him to the punch.

"Ginny, I'd like to introduce you to Arabella Figg. She's been a friend of the family for close to fifteen years now, although we haven't seen her often enough lately."

Ginny politely held out her hand for Mrs. Figg to shake, and said a courteous "How do you do?"

Mrs. Figg took her hand, shook it for a bit, and held it a little longer as she looked Ginny up and down. "Ginny, I'm sure you don't remember me, since the last time I saw you was on your six-month birthday. But you have sure grown into a beauty! That hair is to die for, and you have such fair skin. You're certain to be a heartbreaker when you start school!"

Ginny promptly blushed scarlet, looked down, and mumbled something that might have been "Thank you". Of course, it might just as well have been "Wimbledon" for all anyone could understand it, but they gave her the benefit of the doubt. Harry was happy that Mrs. Figg liked his best friend, but he felt unaccountably uncomfortable hearing the part about Ginny being a heartbreaker. He wasn't sure what that was, exactly, except that it had something to do with pretty girls. But, he decided to not worry about it for the time being, and just enjoy the day.

It was at this point that the bushy-haired girl could contain her curiosity no longer. "Excuse me, but I'm Hermione Granger. Did you two find Golden Tickets also? I couldn't believe it when I found mine. My parents are both dentists, so we don't usually have many sweets in our house, but it was my birthday and my uncle gave me one of the Wonka's Fudgalicious Funny Fingers. I wasn't going to eat it, but then I saw the news on the telly talking about the Golden Tickets, so of course I had to open up the candy bar, and I just couldn't believe it. How did you find your Golden Tickets? Can I see them? Of course, they're probably exactly like mine, so it wouldn't make any sense to do any type of comparison, would it?" At this point she seemed to run out of breath.

Harry wondered to himself if he were always going to be surrounded by girls who talked as if they didn't know how to stop, but since he was naturally quiet, and didn't feel the need to talk very much, he supposed it was better than having extremely long, awkward silences in a conversation.

Ginny, who looked a little stunned by the brunette's long-windedness, perhaps out of envy, took it upon herself to introduce herself and Harry to the other girl, and they spent the next minute or two competing in seeing who could tell the other more about their experience with the Ticket. Harry, content to let the girls chatter away, started wondering why they had had to be there exactly at 8:00, when here it was, ten minutes after the hour and there was no sign of anything happening from inside the factory. Deciding that whatever happened, it probably couldn't be blamed on him, he turned his attention back to the redhead at his side. After a few minutes of listening to the girls talk, and only understanding about half of what was said, he started to get a little bored. Thankfully, however, their conversation was brought to a halt by the sudden realization that there was someone else in the center of the crowd with them. A tall man was standing to one side, looking on with an amused grin.

"Charlie!" Harry yelled in delight. "I thought you weren't able to come today!"

Charlie's smile grew even bigger at the boy's enthusiastic greeting, and he responded with a chuckle. "Actually, Harry, I told you that I was going to be too busy to be your guardian on the tour. I never said I wouldn't be able to be here on this most auspicious of days."

Harry was rather confused by this--why would Charlie not be able to accompany Harry, yet still be standing there in the center of the crowd with him? His ponderings were cut short by Charlie raising a microphone to his mouth, and speaking to the crowd.

"Good morning, everyone! It is so nice to see you all here with your happy smiling faces!"

The crowd immediately hushed, and, if possible, pressed closer to the red ropes separating them from the celebrities in the middle.

Harry thought that maybe Charlie worked for Mr. Wonka and had been assigned to be their tour guide, or maybe he was the Factory's press agent.

Charlie's address to the crowd continued, and Harry found out just how wrong he was.

"I, as you may have guessed, am Willy Wonka, and I am prouder than I can say to welcome these three young people today. They, and whichever adults they have chosen to accompany them, will be invited to tour my whole factory, time permitting, and sample the delicacies found therein. Many wonderful surprises await them, and they will be able to share incredible stories of magic and amazement with their friends and families for the rest of their lives!"

Harry was rather confused at this--his friend Charlie was actually Willy Wonka? Why had he lied to Harry? His look of confusion must have been plainly evident, for Ginny squeezed his hand and mouthed "We'll ask later." Charlie, too, must have seen him starting to frown, for he winked at Harry and smiled for a second before returning to his speech.

"Now, if the Finders will please present themselves one by one, and show me their Tickets, we'll get started on our day."

Unsurprisingly, Hermione, the bushy-haired girl, was the first to step forward. She very clearly introduced herself and her mother, Mrs. Jane Granger, and showed her Golden Ticket to the supposed Mr. Wonka. Charlie shook her hand, and welcomed both her and her mother with a huge smile and delighted laughter.

Ginny looked at Harry and, noting his reluctance, stepped over to her mother, whose hand she took, and walked up to the old man. "Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, and this is my mother, Molly."

Charlie smiled again at the little redheaded girl and said "Hello, Ginny, it's nice to see you again. I'm so glad that you could come today, especially so that you and Harry could visit together."

Molly, at this point, looked surprised that the famous Willy Wonka already knew her daughter, but managed to control her reactions enough to shake Mr. Wonka's hand.

Now it was Harry's turn to be presented. He was somewhat loath to do so, but Mrs. Figg took charge and dragged him over to Mr. Wonka. Sensing Harry's confusion and doubt, she greeted Charlie as an old friend would. Harry noticed that she called him Charlie also, and wondered at that too. Surely she'd know who he was, if they'd been schoolmates!

Harry shook Charlie's hand, and looked him in the eye with his startlingly green gaze. "Hi, I'm Harry Potter--" At this he heard a gasp and quick murmuring from Ginny's direction, but continued looking at Charlie. "--and I thought that I already knew you."

Charlie's smile faltered slightly as he took in the slightly hostile look on Harry's face. But he shook hands as warmly as ever, and welcomed him to the Factory. In a much quieter voice, he said, "Harry, I'll explain everything after we get inside--please just trust me that everything I've told you is true."

Harry decided that he could wait to find out the answers, and went over to stand next to Ginny, who was just staring at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. Harry was just about to ask her what was wrong, when Charlie addressed the audience again.

"Again, I thank you for coming this morning to see this wonderful event. Rest assured that I'll take great care of these children and their companions, and they will be safely returned at the close of this most glorious of days." And with that, he turned and walked towards the magnificent front gates, which magically opened in front of him.

The three children, and the three ladies, followed him inside, then turned to watch as the gates swung ponderously shut. Harry couldn't help but wish that this would be the last time he'd ever have to see the Dursleys, that the closing of the gates would mark more than just a symbolic separation from the people who had made his life exceedingly difficult for as long as he could remember. But he thought of Charlie's words, that they'd be returned safely at the end of the day, and stifled that line of thinking.

Charlie's pace picked up quite a bit, as if he were tremendously eager to get things started, and the rest had to just about break into a jog to keep up. Harry was worried that Mrs. Figg, being advanced in age as she was, would be left behind, but she gamely hung on, and even managed to beat Mrs. Weasley to the front doors.

Charlie ushered them into the Factory at last, and the visitors found themselves in a marbled entry hall. There were beautiful portraits lining the walls, of some of the kindest-looking people Harry had ever seen. But as Harry looked closer, he saw that the portraits seemed to be made entirely of candy. Chocolate, marzipan, cream, spun sugar and other confections that he didn't recognize were woven together in a bewildering array of colors. Harry decided, right then and there, that being a candy maker must be the most fascinating job in the world. Perhaps Charlie, or Willy, or whoever he was, would like to take on an apprentice.

Harry's inspection was interrupted by Charlie again. "Now, my friends, I must take some time away from our tour to explain a few things. I know that I owe young Harry an explanation or two, and I think that there are a few things that I need to tell the rest of you also. Please come into my office and everything shall be made clear," and he pointed them to a small door off to the side that had escaped their notice.

The inside of the office was as beautiful as the entry hall, although much more cluttered, and bore the marks of being used, very often, and only cleaned when necessary. Charlie apologized for the mess, saying that normally everything in the entire Factory was unnaturally tidy, thanks to his many workers, but that he had forbidden them to clean his office for the last three weeks. "Although, knowing them, they've been sneaking in every so often and cleaning where they don't think I'll notice."

"Now, Harry, I'm sure you'd like to know why I have two names, is that correct?"

Harry nodded vigorously, and Charlie continued. "Perhaps the first thing I need to tell you is the name I was born with. I am Charlie Bucket."

At this revelation, Hermione's hand shot into the air, as if she were volunteering to answer a question in school. Charlie's eyes twinkled as he looked over at her.

"Miss Granger, do you have a question?" he asked, with a smile in his voice.

"Yes sir--" Harry smirked at this, knowing what was coming.

"Oh please, Miss Granger, I would really rather you call me Charlie. I feel old enough as it is, without having a beautiful young girl like yourself--", Hermione blushed, "--referring to me as if I were a grandfather."

"Sorry, sir, I mean, Charlie." Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable at using his first name, and Molly Weasley looked plainly scandalized at the old man's behavior. After a quick glance at her mother, who nodded slightly, she continued, "And you may call me Hermione, if you please."

"I would love to, Hermione. Now, please continue your interrogation."

Hermione blushed even harder at his gentle teasing, but gamely continued. "Are you the Charlie Bucket that went into the Chocolate Factory so long ago and never came out? I read a lot about the so-called Bucket Scandal when the announcement was made about the Golden Tickets being hidden in the chocolate bars again, and the stories seem to conflict about what happened to you after the tour of the Factory. Some of them say that you came out just fine, and it was the other children that went with you that had problems. Some say that no-one ever saw you again. And some even hint that you killed Willy Wonka and stole his entire chocolate empire." At this point, Hermione realized exactly what she was accusing Charlie of, and once again blushed a bright red. Harry wondered if all all the girls he was going to be around would not only talk his ear off, but also spend half their lives a bright tomato red.

Charlie, thankfully enough for Hermione's sake, didn't seem to take offense at what she'd said. In fact, he laughed, and laughed, and laughed. So infectious was his good humor that pretty soon the others in the room were either chuckling, in Harry's case, or giggling, in the two young girls' case, or smiling faintly, as the adults seemed better able to control their reactions.

Finally Charlie was able to control himself, and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. "Hermione, thank you so much. That's the most I've laughed for years. I had forgotten all those wonderful accusatory and inaccurate stories, and I am glad to know that there is at least one person in the world who cared enough to research them and bring them to light again."

Hermione's blush, which had been receding again, came back again in full force, but in this case it was pleasure in being complimented.

"Now, if I may be permitted to speak..." He glanced slyly at Hermione again, delighting in the young girl's discomfiture, and continued. "When I finished the tour of the Chocolate Factory those many years ago, it is true that I was alone. Well, I and my Grandpa Joe, that is. The other children all seem to have fallen into sticky situations, what with being greedy, and selfish, and having other undesirable qualities that compelled them to make unwise decisions as we toured the factory, most of the time in direct opposition to Mr. Wonka's guidelines. Having made it to the end of the tour, however, I found that the whole contest and tour were expressly designed to find a successor to Mr. Wonka's chocolate business. He told me that he was getting up there in age, and, having no children of his own, had needed to find a child who would be able to take over for him. He selected me! There weren't words to describe how happy I was at this. My family and I moved into the Factory, and I commenced learning everything I could about the chocolate world. As I grew more knowledgeable and was better able to assist him, he took a smaller and smaller role in the day-to-day running of things, and I became the one in charge. He eventually retired completely, and moved to a small island in the South Pacific, where he spends his days lying on the beach and surfing."

Hermione interrupted yet again, although this time she forgot to raise her hand. "You mean he's still alive? That's impossible, he must be about 150 by now!"

Charlie smiled again at the young girl. "He's actually about 137, as of last May. But he's feeling fine and just yesterday popped 'round to see how things were going. If we're lucky, maybe he'll visit today too."

"How is he still alive and able to visit? Shouldn't he be dead by now?" This came from Harry, who, while wanting to believe what Charlie was saying, couldn't quite swallow this. Curiously, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny didn't seem too distraught, nor did Mrs. Figg.

"Ah, well, I will explain that, if you let me continue my story, but I have a few other things to clear up first."

At the nods of the children, indicating he should go on, he resumed his narration.

"So, as I took over a factory named 'Willy Wonka's', it was necessary that I also _become_ Willy Wonka. Thus I have two faces that I present. Willy Wonka is who I am when I'm acting in the official capacity as owner of the chocolate business, and believe me, I can look like an officious old busybody if I really want to. But I also have found it necessary at times to go out as someone much less recognizable. That is when I become just plain old Charlie, and find it quite liberating."

"But today you showed up as just Charlie!" was Harry's comment to this.

"Ah, well, Harry, that speaks to something else that I need to explain. While it is true that the face you saw today was the face you knew as Charlie, and the same for Miss Weasley, the face that the rest of the people saw was that of the kindly old gentlemen that is instantly recognizable as the frontman for Wonka's Chocolates."

Harry was floored at this. "How can you show two different faces at the same time? I really don't understand."

Charlie looked with compassion on his young friend, and decided that now was the time to really bring out the big surprises. "Well, Harry, this speaks to the question of why you, and Miss Weasley, and Miss Granger were able to find the Golden Tickets."

Hermione looked rather offended that there was some type of scheme behind her having found a Ticket, but this warred with her instinctive desire to find out everything, so she just remained uncharacteristically silent.

"You see, I'm getting older too, while not as old as the original Willy Wonka was, and I decided that I needed to find a worthy successor. Not wanting to run the risk of attracting too many of the wrong, horrid, selfish types of people to the factory, I managed to do a little research and find a small, very small, selection of people whom I thought would be good candidates. Having done so, I managed to place myself in proximity to them, and sort of 'guide' them in finding the chocolate bars with the Tickets in them."

Harry was flabbergasted at this--"But Mr. Fordham gave me the chocolate bar that had the Ticket in it!"

"Did you never wonder why that particular bar had 'accidentally' fallen on the floor? Nor did you question why I needed to go talk to him before I let you into the shop?"

Harry just stared at Charlie after hearing this. Thinking back, he could remember the almost desperate look on Mr. Fordham's face when he was talking about not being able to sell the chocolate bar in question. He had chalked that up to worry about the lack of income from the sale, but with this new knowledge, he could certainly understand the look better.

Charlie turned to Ginny. "And I was in that shop the day you and your family came, and was able to hand the correct chocolate bar to your brother George--"

"Fred", Ginny interjected.

"Sorry, Fred, so that he could buy it for you. And you, Hermione, have you ever really met your uncle that supposedly sent you the chocolate bar?"

Hermione's mother smiled at this, and commented, "I just thought it was one of Dan's relatives. He probably thought it was one of mine."

"So, you engineered all of us getting the Golden Tickets?" Harry didn't know what to think about this. He was a little bit sad to realize that everything had been planned out ahead of time. But then he started thinking more about it, and a smile grew on his face as he realized that this meant that someone had been watching him enough to realize that he was worth something. That Charlie felt that he, Harry, was a good person. That the Dursleys were wrong in their assessment of him as a selfish freak.

Ginny, on the other hand, had a gleeful look on her face, and was just about jumping out of her seat. Only her mother's calming hand on her arm kept her from springing up and accosting Charlie.

Harry looked over at Ginny, curious as to why she wasn't surprised by all these revelations. "Ginny, why aren't you surprised? Did you already know about all this?"

Molly's hand lost its grip on her daughter as the little girl sprang to her feet, arm outstretched, pointing directly at Charlie. "You're a wizard, aren't you? That's the only explanation for all of this, isn't it?"

Molly's and Mrs. Figg's faces went white as they heard the young girl shatter the International Statute of Secrecy. Charlie, perversely, smiled at her, and calmly answered, "Yes, I am a wizard. Very good for figuring that out, Miss Weasley."

"But, but, what are we going to do about the Grangers?" This came from Mrs. Figg, who was casting worried glances at the pair in question, while still keeping a watchful eye on her charge, making sure that he didn't do something stupid before they could explain things to him.

"Ah, but Arabella, surely you don't think I would have let the Golden Tickets go to just any Muggle, do you? Miss Granger has magic in her too, quite a lot, I suspect. In fact, she should have received her Hogwarts letter already this summer, but I decided that I would rather provide her a Golden Ticket. This way, when I give her the letter she should have gotten, she will know that she has options."

Harry was lost. He had been trained from a young age to never use the m-word in #4 Privet Drive, and had tried hard to not think about it either, but here were people, grown-ups even, discussing magic as if it were a real, everyday fact of life. Mrs. Figg he had known ever since he could remember, and had never seen her do anything out of the ordinary--how could she talk about magic? Ginny, now, if anyone were able to do magic, it would be her. She had brought such a bright spark into his life that he had no compunctions attributing wondrous things to her. But this Hermione girl looked to be quite as lost as he was.

"Charlie," he asked tentatively. "What do you mean by magic? Do you mean pulling rabbits out of hats?" This was the only type of magic he'd been exposed to, that he knew of, and couldn't think of what else they might be talking about.

"No, my boy. I mean real magic. Stuff like this..." and he snapped his fingers and in an instant there was a large chocolate bunny sitting on the desk at his side. "And this..." and he waved his hand and Harry's chair started floating. "And this..." and a second later, there was a large, real rabbit sitting in the chair where Charlie had been. After a few seconds of everyone staring at the animal, the rabbit turned back into Charlie, although he still had two fluffy bunny ears sticking out of the top of his head, which he didn't seem to notice.

"But you say that Hermione is magical too? Does that mean she's a, what did you say, a wizard?" Mrs. Granger put in. "This would certainly go a long way towards explaining some of the strange things that have happened in our house in the past few years."

Harry was taken aback that the ordinary-looking dentist seemed to be taking all this rather well, but that took second place in his mind to the question that now formed.

"So, Charlie, you say that you're looking for some special child or children to tour your factory. Yet, you chose me. Why?" He asked plaintively.

Mrs. Figg took it upon herself to answer this one. "Harry, didn't you ever make anything happen when you were scared, or mad? Gotten yourself out of danger in some miraculous way, or caused some accident to happen to your bullying cousin?"

Harry thought back to the times when strange things _had_ happened, which usually presaged his most severe punishments. This would certainly explain those incidents.

"So, are you saying that I'm...?" And Harry's thoughts balked at the next logical step in the chain.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." Charlie was smiling directly at him now, a smile of affection and gentleness. "You're a wizard, Harry."

ooooooo

Author's Note: I actually plan on continuing this, and perhaps fleshing out this part more. You know, breaking it into chapters and such. It will probably be titled something like "Harry and the Chocolate Factory" and will be posted here, as well as some other places, my LiveJournal pages being a good bet.

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. The world of Willy Wonka is owned by Roald Dahl. The world of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is owned by Ian Fleming, although the delightful book doesn't mention Toot Sweets. So, they are probably owned by the authors of the script, Ken Hughes, and surprisingly enough, Roald Dahl. See? It's one big circle thingy.


	4. Part 4: The Captain

**Part 4: The Captain**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by their respective owners. See additional notes at the end.

A/N: If you get tired of waiting for updates on this, I suggest you read DukeBrymin's fanfiction on other sites. It's definitely worth checking out. And thanks to my wonderful betas.

Also, I plan on writing more of this story, as there are so many things I didn't get to.

–SassyFrass

**Part 4: The Captain**

Harry walked home from school, clutching his book to his chest. Ms. Florin, the school librarian, had given _him–_Harry James Potter–a present. It was the last day of school, and when he'd stopped in to say goodbye, she'd handed him a brightly wrapped package. She'd explained that she wouldn't be back the next year, and since he was her favorite student, she'd wanted him to have something to remember her by. So she'd given him a copy of one of her favorite books.

He hugged the book a little tighter. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a _real_ present. The Dursleys sometimes gave him something for Christmas, but it was usually something like a sock, or a hanger; once it was a used tissue. Not something that normal people gave or got, and definitely not something that you gave to someone you loved.

The fact that someone cared enough to give him a real present meant more to him than he could say, and even if he didn't like the book, Harry would keep it forever as a reminder that he was liked. That Ms. Florin thought enough of him that she would pick out a present especially and specifically for him, that was a better present than even the book was.

He was turning the corner, about halfway home, when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

"Hey, Freak!" Oh no, his cousin Dudley was coming, and he likely had his group of friends with him. Harry looked behind him, and sure enough, Dudley, Piers and a few more of his gang were following him. He turned toward the other boys and drew in a deep breath.

"Leave me alone, Dudley. I'm just going home."

"Ooh look, Dud, the Freak's telling us what to do," Piers egged Dudley on.

"Yeah, Freak. You don't getta tell me what to do. I tell _you_ what to do." Dudley cracked his knuckles menacingly as the boys drew closer to where Harry had stopped. "What's that you got, Freak? You steal something from school?" The overweight boy had seen that his skinny cousin was clutching his arms across his chest, hiding something.

"No!" Harry mentally groaned as he answered. "It's nothing." He knew that Dudley would try to take the book away from him. Dudley always took Harry's things, even if it wasn't an item that Dudley wanted. He just didn't want Harry to have it. Harry turned to hurry home, hoping that he could get enough of a head start that the gang wouldn't be able to catch him.

No such luck.

"I think you _did_ steal something. Get him!" Dudley yelled the last to his friends, and they charged Harry.

Piers, for all that he was a rat-faced, skinny little brat, could sprint rather well. Harry wasn't far enough away to use his better stamina to advantage, and Piers quickly caught up to him and tripped him. Harry tumbled face first to the ground. A sharp pain shot through his wrist as he heard a faint _crack!_ and his book tumbled out of his grasp and onto the pavement ahead of him. Piers quickly pounced on the present and held it up for Dudley to see.

Harry attempted to push himself up, but bit his lip as he collapsed back to the ground. His left wrist was sending waves of pain through his body. _Probably broken again, _he thought to himself. Putting his weight on his other hand, he forced his body up, and glared at Piers.

"Give it back, it's mine!" The other boys were gathering around Piers and Dudley, looking at his book. Normally, Harry would have taken the opportunity to escape while they were distracted, but the book was too important. It was _his. _His _book. His present!_

Dudley ignored him as he paged roughly through the at the lack of pictures, he lazily ripped out pages. Piers laughed as he watched the torn pages float slowly to the ground. Harry felt the anger rise in him like a heat wave. His temper was something he had learned quite some time ago to keep a tight rein on. Uncle Vernon punished any sign of personality in Harry, and that included his temper. The anger seemed to grow beyond his control, roiling with an energy of its own. Suddenly it burst out of him in a flash of heat. He vaguely heard his voice shout out something that sounded like a word–_Stop!_–maybe, he wasn't sure. Faster than he could blink, a ripple shot through the air around him, like the hazy air of a heat wave in late August, and Harry stood frozen in horror as Dudley and his gang were thrown back from him. They were sprawled on the ground in a semi-circle around him, and his book fluttered down gently to rest against his foot, moving in a nonexistent breeze, tapping him as if to remind him it was there.

Paling, Harry was barely aware as he reached down and grasped his book, and the torn out pages that had settled next to it. He kept his gaze on the unconscious boys, anxiously watching to see if they stirred.

Harry winced as his left wrist twinged again, reminding him of his injuries. Carefully, he held his broken limb to his chest, and clutched his torn book tightly against it, to provide stability.

_What happened? I'm dead. Uncle Vernon's going to kill me for sure._ The thin boy began to hyperventilate as he imagined how his obese uncle would react to him hurting Dudley. His head grew lighter as he panicked, until, finally, one of the boys on the ground groaned. The sound startled Harry, and he bolted. He ran as fast as he could, uncaring of where he was going. He dodged through alleyways, and hedges, automatically hiding his tracks, fearing that soon, someone would be chasing him down.

Consumed by the thoughts of what would happen when Uncle Vernon caught up with him, Harry didn't see the man in front of him until it was too late. He collided with a solid _whump!_ into a hard object that bounced him backwards, making him fall to the ground. The encounter was so abrupt, he didn't have time to brace himself, even if he hadn't had his arms clutched to his chest. He groaned as pain once again raced through his broken wrist, now pulsing in time with his back and head where he'd connected with the pavement.

"Ay, pobrecito." A strong hand reached down and grasped his upper arm, pulling him back to his feet. "And where are you going in such a hurry, hmm?"

The injured boy panted with pain, struggling to look behind him to see if anyone was following him. It wasn't until his frenzied brain realized no one was chasing after him, that he realized his arm was still being held in a firm, warm hand.

Hesitantly, he looked up at the man holding him upright. Blinking, Harry finally recognized the new man in the neighborhood. He was Spanish, that much Harry knew from Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's muttered discussions about "bloody foreigners." The boy rather thought that the only way the Dursley's could hate the man more was if he were French.

"Sorry, sir," Harry whispered, still clutching his broken wrist and his book to his chest. "I didn't mean to run into you like that."

"Not to worry." The man's dark eyes shone with an emotion Harry didn't recognize. It was softer than anything he'd ever seen on his relatives' faces. "Now then, we should take care of the wrist, hmm? And possibly do something about that headache that's likely ringing inside your head." The Spaniard wrapped his arm around Harry's thin shoulders and steered him to the right. Harry finally recognized where he was. It was a quieter street that connected to Wisteria Walk, where old Mrs. Figg lived with her cats. Harry was guided up a walkway that, he realized, led to the house that the Spaniard had moved into. He had known that the gentleman hadn't moved onto Privet Drive, because of Uncle Vernon's mutterings of "at least that _Foreigner_ has the decency not to live on this street with us _normal_ people." If the Dursleys were normal, Harry was kind of glad that he was a freak.

The house that Harry was ushered into matched the style and shape of the others on the street, but there was something distinctly off about it. It wasn't anything obvious, but Harry felt it was different. It seemed to have softer edges, and rounder curves. Privately, in the place Harry hid the thoughts that he knew were freakish, he decided that maybe the house moved a little, like breathing, as though it were alive.

Once he was through the door, Harry forgot all about the mystery of the uniqueness of the house. He was too busy being amazed by the un-ordinariness of the interior. It felt as though he had gone through a portal into a different place, somewhere far removed from Little Whinging.

"Come in, Harry, come in." The man's voice was warm, and a little jovial, almost excited at the thought of welcoming the boy into his home.

"Yes, sir," Harry hurried to keep up with him. Harry was a little perplexed that the man knew his name, but then again, most people in the neighborhood knew 'That Potter Boy' who had been foisted on the Durlseys. So he mentally shrugged the thought away.

"Oh, no, you musn't call me sir. Perhaps. . ." Here the man paused and thoughtfully tapped a finger against his lips. He studied Harry, then his eyes seemed to brighten when he saw the book that Harry still clutched in one hand. "Perfect. Yes, my boy, you shall call me Captain. Captain Montoya if you feel the need to be formal." Bewildered, Harry nodded, then looked closer at the book he held. _ Dread Pirates of the Seas: From Bluebeard to Roberts._ Finally he shrugged, maybe Mr.–er _Captain_ Montoya liked the book? Harry hadn't read it himself, but had been looking forward to starting when he was locked into his cupboard that evening. But then his face fell. Dudley had torn it rather badly, and he'd been in such a panic that he wasn't sure if he'd gathered all the ripped-out pages.

Captain Montoya watched the expressions cross the thin lad's face, and frowned a little in sympathy. Finally he clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, startling him from his reverie. "No worries, young Potter. We'll fix it up like new." Montoya led Harry through a large wooden door, into a room that held shelves and shelves of books. Harry's mouth dropped open. It looked like there were more books than in his library at school!

"You just sit right there, and we'll get that arm taken care of." The Captain pushed Harry down into a plush chair, and hurried out the door. He was back in moments, carrying a jar and some cloth bandages. Harry was a little curious as he was certain that his wrist was broken, and the Captain wasn't carrying anything that looked like a splint. Mentally he shrugged his shoulders and decided to wait and see what would happen. Montoya dragged a low stool over in front of Harry and sat down, placing the jar and bandages next to him.

"Alright, kid, let's look at this wrist of yours."

Harry carefully laid his book and the torn pages on his lap and held his left arm out towards the older man. The boy breathed deeply, trying to control the pain that was radiating from his wrist. He could see the funny bend in his arm, and the sight made a cold shiver run down his spine and settle uneasily in his stomach.

"That's got to be painful alright, but luckily it's a clean break. Easily fixed. It'll be good as new in just a bit."

Harry wasn't sure he understood Captain Montoya right. He knew from school, and previous experience, that broken bones–while they might be relatively easy to take care of–took weeks to mend properly. But maybe the Captain just meant that it would be splinted-up soon.

He watched as the man opened the jar, and scooped out a large bit with his fingers. "Hold this," Montoya said absently, handing the container of purple paste to him. Harry took it gingerly with his right hand, and studied the hand-drawn lettering. _Max's Miracle Paste: For burns, bruises, and breaks._ He sniffed it cautiously and scrunched up his nose, his eyes watering at the sharp odor. Montoya laughed softly.

"It doesn't smell the best, I agree, but it certainly works." The Captain's words drew Harry's attention back to where the man was working on his wrist. He was spreading the paste gently from the base of his fingers, over the break in the wrist, and partway up Harry's forearm. "You want to make sure that you take care of any injuries to the surrounding tendons and muscles," he explained. "After all, it doesn't do you much help if the bone is mended, but the tendons and muscles don't work correctly."

Harry could feel the paste numb the area that it covered, while a faint tingling was crawling up his arm, where it settled into his chest. The pain faded away, and he took a deep breath, and relaxed as his stomach settled. Then the ache from his head and back where he'd hit the ground after running into Captain Montoya seemed to double in strength.

The tingling from his arm grew more intense, and Harry watched as the Captain wrapped his arm carefully with the bandages. "To keep the paste on, so it can soak in and do its job," he said when he noticed the boy's interest.

"Excuse me, sir, but how will this help my broken bone? I've never heard of putting paste on it, just a cast."

Montoya chuckled as he nudged Harry forward, looking at the lump on the back of Harry's skull. "Why it's magic of course, my boy. Miracle Max is one of the best potions makers in the world. He can practically raise the dead. A broken arm is nothing for someone of his abilities."

Harry was caught on the first part, _Magic!?_

"B-but magic isn't real! That's just in books, and on the telly." Harry stuttered.

Captain Montoya scoffed. "Of course it's real, and you should know. After all, you're a wizard, Harry!"

XXXXX

Additional Disclaimer: Harry Potter and friends belong to J. K. Rowling. The Princess Bride belongs to William Goldman, and 20th Century Fox.


	5. Part 5: The Forest

**You're A Wizard:5:Forest**

Disclaimer: All I own are the plot bunnies, and ownership there is actually shared with my co-writer. Other copyrights are, of course, owned by their copyright holders, for details, see the A/N at the end. I make no claims to them.

Author's Note: My co-writer, sandyrah, sassyfrass, or sassyfrass_kerr, depending on the site, and I decided that we wanted to write a bunch of one-shots about how Harry COULD have been introduced to the Wizarding World, by other characters besides Hagrid. The only stipulation was that each one shot had to include the line: You're a wizard, Harry! Great thanks go to my betas, sassyfrass and rosiekatriona. Enjoy!

Title: You're a Wizard, Harry! Part 5, Forest  
Word Count:  
Rating: G

Harry Potter was lost. There wasn't any question about it--he truly had no idea where he was. It had been a horrible afternoon for the almost-11-year-old boy. The morning had started out much better than normal--he had been allowed to go to the zoo. But then, disaster struck--he had somehow set a python on Dudley. He couldn't quite figure out _how_ he had done it, nor even whether it had really been his fault. But this didn't matter to the Dursleys; any time anything even slightly out of the ordinary happened, he was blamed. Which led to his current state of lost-ness.

As soon as the car had pulled into the driveway, Uncle Vernon had started shouting at Harry.

"You miserable freak! Showing off in public like that! I don't know why we don't just lock you in the cupboard until you rot! I ought to give you the beating of a lifetime! You. . . blasted. . . ugnghng!"

At that point, he had grabbed his chest, and fallen forward onto the steering wheel of his company car, causing the horn to blare loudly and the neighbors to start peering out of their windows. Aunt Petunia had screamed, and Dudley had punched Harry, which was his usual response to strange happenings.

Harry, on the other hand, had pulled on the door handle as fast and hard as he could, (wincing as Dudley's fist impacted his side) pushed the door open, and started running. He didn't think his Uncle Vernon would be in a good mood when he woke up, and knew that his previous punishments would be nothing compared to what would happen to him for causing this latest problem.

In his flight, Harry hadn't paid close attention to his surroundings. He knew that he had run to the play park that was closest to his house. He had had some vague thought of hiding in the copse of trees there. He remembered running into the trees, then wishing as hard as possible to be able to hide himself somewhere where the Dursleys would never find him. He must have fallen, then, and hit his head, because he blacked out.

Upon waking up, he looked around and realized that he didn't recognize the trees around him. The undergrowth seemed much denser than what he had been expecting, and the trees looked, somehow, more _ominous_, and a **lot** taller. Not knowing what else to do, he started walking in what he thought was the direction he had been facing when he had fallen. This, of course, went against everything he had ever heard about proper procedure when you got lost. He knew that he really should stay in one place, if he wanted to be found. But then again, he really didn't _want_ to be found, especially not by anyone he knew, so walking didn't seem like such a bad option.

oooooooooo

After walking for what felt like at least a couple of hours, Harry sat down again. He guessed he was no longer in the play park--there was no way that he could have walked for so long and not exited the small stand of trees there. He didn't know for sure _where_ he was, but it hadn't seemed like too bad of a place to be. He had come across small rivulets of water, that tasted surprisingly fresh and clean, and had occasionally passed by trees that held some fruits, so he hadn't become too hungry. In truth, he had probably eaten more in his wanderings than he had been used to in a typical day at Privet Drive. Thankfully, none of the fruit seemed to be poisonous, since he hadn't known any way of testing for that particular potentiality.

But now, he was getting a little more nervous. As the afternoon had worn on, he had started to hear noises of some types of animals. Once he thought he heard the roaring of a lion, although he wasn't quite sure why a lion would be loose in a forest in England. He had heard the hoofbeats of some, he assumed, horse-like creature, but those faded off into the distance rather rapidly. The sound that worried him the most was a rapid clicking noise that sounded like something he _might _be able to understand, if only it were a little lower-pitched. The clicking noise was bad enough, but he had also started seeing something that looked a lot like spiderwebs, although if they were, the spiders would have to be huge.

Taking stock of his situation, he decided that he really needed to see if there was an easy way out of the woods. Looking around, he found the largest tree close to him and started to climb. Being rather small for his age, he was able to shinny up the tree to almost the very top. Looking out over the forest, he was a little disheartened to see how far it stretched in front of him. But then he turned around, and gave a gasp of surprise. Off in the distance, situated on a rocky promontory, was a fantastical castle. It looked like something out of a medieval tale, with turrets, and battlements, and courtyards, and flags. Perhaps even more importantly, it had lights shining in its windows, although said lights flickered and danced, as if they were from torches, or candles, rather than lightbulbs. To the left of the castle, down a long, sweeping hill, was a large, dark lake, with water that was as smooth as glass, with the minor exception of some ripples towards the middle, that might have been caused by a large creature swimming along.

Harry was excited--if there was a castle with lights in it, then maybe there were people there! And if there were people, maybe they'd let him work in the kitchens for food, and have a cupboard for him to sleep in! Taking note of the direction of the castle relative to the setting sun, he clambered back down the tree and headed off towards it at a run.

After about 10 minutes of running, he realized that he should pace himself better, because he didn't want to get too tired to travel. The castle had looked to be quite a ways off, and he desperately wanted to reach it before having to sleep. That was _one_ thing he really didn't want to do anywhere near where there might be giant spiders.

As the sun lowered itself through the sky, Harry started getting more worried. The sounds around him were increasing in frequency and variety, and some of them were downright scary. Occasionally he heard the lion again, and it seemed to be getting louder. Once he thought he might have heard the chittering of a monkey, and there were rustlings in the trees behind him that sorely tested his ability to control his pace. But then came the sound that changed everything--off to his left, rather close, and very loudly, he heard the trumpeting of an elephant. This scared him so bad, that he stopped walking, fell to the ground, and curled up into a ball. As he huddled there, shaking in fear, he almost decided that he would have been better off with the Dursleys, even _with_ the prospect of Uncle Vernon's promised beating.

As time passed without a repeat of the elephant's cry, Harry's shaking diminished, until he finally felt confident enough to unwrap his arms from around his head and sit up. Doing so proved to be a mistake, because he found himself face-to-face with the elephant that, he assumed, had been calling earlier. The elephant didn't look scary, but then Harry figured that he didn't really know how elephants were supposed to look when they were upset. For all he knew, the elephant could be seconds away from stomping him into goo because he had invaded its home.

Harry was rather disappointed, really. He had heard that when you were about to die, your life flashed in front of your eyes. His did, but it was singularly depressing. He didn't get to see his parents--he supposed that you only saw things you could remember. What he _did_ get to see was an unending stream of Dursleys and sadness, mitigated only by the relatively happy memory of Dudley screaming like a baby at the sight of a python advancing towards him. He vowed, right then and there, to try to find other means to happiness.

Harry also realized that the gut-wrenching terror that comes when you know you're going to die tends to fade away after awhile. In fact, he became somewhat bored, what with the elephant just staring at him. Finally he decided to try standing, hoping that he'd feel less scared, or at least, more prepared to run, or climb a tree, or _something_. Slowly he raised himself to his feet, worrying all the while that this was, in elephant language, the worst insult imaginable. But the elephant just moved back slightly, and continued to look at him. Emboldened by this lack of response, he started to turn around.

Just as he had begun his movement, his ears were assaulted by a long, ululating cry that seemed to float over the treetops, and travel towards him from the south. It started low, then rose up in pitch, then went back down, and Harry was sure that this meant the end of his short, uninteresting life. Curiously, the elephant reacted more strongly to this sound than he (or she, Harry wan't sure which) had done before. The elephant raised its head, and looked almost expectantly towards where the cry was emanating. Harry didn't know why he believed the elephant looked expectant--elephants couldn't really look that way, could they?

The weird cry finally ended, but Harry didn't really notice, as the source of the voice came into view. Harry saw, flying towards him through the trees, something that looked like a man, but such a man as he had never imagined. He knew, without a doubt, that this man would never in a million years have been welcomed on Privet Drive. He had a hard time believing that anything like this man had ever set foot in England before. The man was tall, and exceedingly muscular. He was naked, except for something wrapped around his waist that looked like fur. His hair was long, shaggy, and sun-streaked. But his appearance was eclipsed by the fact that he was flying. Harry couldn't imagine how anyone could travel through a forest as quickly as this person was. But as the strange being came closer, Harry saw that he wasn't, in fact, flying. Instead, he was gripping a vine that seemed to be attached somewhere very high in the trees, and swinging towards Harry rapidly. Harry spared a brief second to hope that the man knew where he was going and wouldn't run into any trees, as at the rate he was traveling, he probably would have left a rather deep, man-shaped indentation in whatever poor trunk had the misfortune to get in the way.

Astonished, Harry could only gape as the man swung down towards the ground, then up again to land, not on the ground, or in a tree, as Harry had half-expected, but on the back of the elephant. The elephant seemed used to this, as all it did was raise its trunk up and stroke the foot of the man. The strange jungle man patted the elephant, looked at Harry, and said "Hello." That was all Harry could take, and he passed out.

oooooooooo

Harry awoke slowly. He was lying in a hammocky-type bed, that was swaying slightly. As he became more awake, he also became more aware of the sounds around him. He had become very good at differentiating minor sounds in his environment, having grown up in a hostile household. He could hear the slight creak of the floor when his Aunt Petunia was spying on him. He could even tell the difference between his Uncle Vernon's footsteps, and those of Dudley, even though the difference in weight between the two was negligible. But there were quite a few sounds in his new environment that were a puzzle to him. He heard wind blowing through leaves, but the rustling was a much deeper sound than he was used to, as if the leaves were significantly bigger than the ones on the trees outside the Dursleys' house. He heard some chittering noises off in the distance that didn't sound anything like the little yapping dogs next door on Privet Drive. And, closer to hand, he heard some quiet conversation, but he couldn't quite make out the words, as they were spoken with a rather strange accent, or perhaps, flavor. Deciding that he felt all right, and that he wouldn't be able to figure out anything else unless he opened his eyes, he did so, and immediately gasped.

He was lying, as he'd guessed, in a hammock. But that wasn't what caused his alarm. The hammock was inside what must have been a treehouse, as he could look around him and see the tops of trees on every side. And from what he could discern, he was rather far up in the branches. There was a roof that looked as if it were made of woven palm fronds, although this was just a guess on Harry's part, as he'd never really seen anything to compare it with, aside from a quick glimpse on the telly when Dudley was flipping past the nature shows to the cartoons. And there, in the corner, was the man that he had seen with the elephant. For a brief instant, Harry wondered if the elephant were up there with them too, but then gave it up as ridiculous.

But perhaps the most exotic, or at least out-of-place, thing that he saw, was a beautiful woman, dressed as if she were a duchess. The jungle man was still wearing a fur loincloth, and looked very comfortable in it, and Harry would have expected at least a similar material, if, hopefully, a little more of it, for any female costume. But this woman, with her dark grey dress, and lace-up boots, and a parasol, of all things, could have stepped from the pages of an old fashion magazine. She looked a little familiar to him, as if he had seen her before, or perhaps had known someone with her features. Forgetting to be afraid, Harry sat up and stared. And promptly fell out of the hammock, having forgotten that he wasn't in a solid bed. The beautiful lady giggled at him, and the jungle man flinched a bit, as if he were prepared to defend himself.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make any noise. Please don't hurt me." Harry's outburst was something ingrained into his psyche. It never really helped, and he'd just about given up pleading for clemency, but this wasn't his Uncle Vernon, and perhaps they'd be nicer.

The woman looked at the man, then back to Harry. "Please, don't worry. We aren't going to hurt you, we are just wondering how you arrived in that area of the forest. My husband says that he found you right by the Black Lake, close to the Forbidden Ruins, right next to the Jungle Entrance, and that you passed out when he tried to talk to you. He brought you back here to see if we could help you find your way home."

Harry just stared at the woman, shocked. She sounded so kind, and gentle, and like she really wanted to help him. He hadn't had that happen to him in a rather long time, ever since his second-grade teacher had tried to find out why he never had anything to eat for lunch. She had left within a week, and rumor said that one of the parents, a rather important man in the community, had complained that she was making up lies about the family. Harry wondered what had really happened, but hadn't had the temerity to ask about it. But this woman, this beautiful red-haired woman, looked like she might be of the same type as his teacher had been.

"Um, I don't know how I got to the forest. I ran away to the park, and kept walking through the trees, and then I figured I must be lost. I climbed a tree to see if I could find a way out. I saw a lake and a castle, but don't know about any ruins or any entrance. Was there a door there?"

The pair looked at him with interest when he mentioned the castle, but were distracted by his question. "No, there's not a door. But there's a place in the Forest where you can cross from it into our Jungle. You see, we're actually on an island in the South Pacific, and the Forest that you were in is in Scotland. There's a special magical area that allows you to travel from one place to another instantly. We call that the Jungle Entrance." For some reason, when the nice woman said the word "magical", she looked closely at Harry, as if judging his reactions. She was rather surprised when Harry flinched back from that word as if it were about to bite him. Deciding to change the subject, she asked, "Now, are you hungry?"

At the mention of food, Harry forgot about the strange Entrance that the lady had been explaining. He didn't dare tell her how much he wanted to eat, but maybe they had something to drink. "Please, ma'am, I'm not very hungry. I ate yesterday morning, and I found some fruit when I was lost, so you don't need to waste food on me. But, if you had some water, I wouldn't mind a drink."

A scowl appeared on the woman's face, and the jungle man looked like he had tasted something awful. But the voice that came out of her mouth had nothing of anger in it. "Well, then, I'll get you a nice drink of water, and put out some fruit and other things in case you feel like snacking. I know I do, and I don't mind sharing with you."

Harry was surprised at how kind she was being. He hadn't wanted to say anything, in case they left him in the woods again, but maybe he'd be able to eat enough to get rid of the gnawing emptiness in his stomach.

She turned away from Harry, and spoke something to the man, who immediately jumped out of the treehouse, and vanished. Harry inadvertently gasped, and the young woman let out a chuckle. "Oh, don't mind him--he likes to surprise people like that. See, he's caught a vine and is just going to find some bananas and mangoes. Have you ever had a mango?"

Harry just shook his head--he didn't think he'd even heard of something called a mango, let alone eaten one. But he was well-used to eating whatever he could scrounge, and hadn't been picky about food ever since he was three and had been sent to bed without dinner for commenting that the milk was a little warm.

"Now, while we wait for the food, can you tell me why you were running away?" She sat down in a rope chair to the side of a rudimentary table, and gestured for Harry to sit down on the hammock. He struggled a bit for balance, but finally was able to make himself somewhat comfortable.

The kind look on the woman's face was enough to break open the dam that had been holding back Harry's tongue. He told her about the trip to the zoo, and the python. She giggled at this point, and said, "I bet that python loved being free. All the snakes that we've met have really enjoyed being able to go wherever they wanted."

Harry's story continued, until he told her about seeing the castle off in the distance, whereupon she sat back in her chair and said, "That's right, you called it a castle, not ruins. Can you tell me exactly what you saw?"

Harry very carefully described what he had seen of the castle--the flickering lights in the windows, the towers with brilliant flags flying from the tops of them. As he talked, the woman started smiling, and nodding a bit.

"Yes, I know that castle very well. It's a well-known landmark among a lot of people. Very interesting." She thought for a bit, then asked, "And what is your name, my dear boy?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he responded, and was once again shocked by the look in her eyes. As he watched, tears started to form, and she sat forward in her chair.

"Harry, do you know your parents' names?" She looked like it cost her a lot to get the words out.

"Lily and James Potter, ma'am, but they died when I was one, and I don't remember them."

This caused the woman to begin crying in earnest. She stood up and started to walk towards Harry, which caused him to flinch backwards. She noticed this, and stopped immediately. "Harry, please don't worry--I promise I won't hurt you. But I have to tell you--I'm your Aunt Jane--Lily was my sister."

Harry was flabbergasted. He had been told his whole life that he was an orphan and dependent on his Aunt Petunia to care for him as he had no other relatives in the world. And now, here was a beautiful lady, who talked softly, and hadn't hit him at all, who said that she was his aunt. He didn't know what to do.

Jane obviously saw the confusion on his face, as she knelt down and held out her arms. "Please, Harry, don't be afraid of me. I would never hurt you."

Harry hesitantly rose and stepped towards her. She reached forward more, and touched his face, then took hold of his shoulders and pulled him into a hug--the first hug he could ever remember having. He stood stiffly, not knowing what he should do. Aunt Petunia had never suffered his touching her, and had rebuffed any overtures of affection he had tried to offer. But eventually he put his arms around her, and tightened them. That was apparently the right thing to do, as she tightened her grasp on him in return.

After a few minutes, the emotions being shown by the lady lessened, and she loosened her grip on Harry. "Harry, we have so much to talk about, you and I. I just hope that my husband gets back soon with the food--I find that I am famished."

At that moment, the treehouse started shaking, and the jungle man, who, apparently was Harry's uncle, climbed onto the floor. Seeing Jane's tears, he hastily set down the armload of fruits he had been carrying, and picked her up. He spoke softly to her, obviously asking her what was wrong. She answered him in the same soft tones. Harry wasn't able to hear what they were saying, although he picked out his name, and a funny name like "Hodwars" or something like that, then he clearly heard Aunt Jane say "Lily and James".

The jungle man looked shocked to hear what Jane was saying to him, and his eyes fixed themselves on Harry. Curiously, this didn't scare Harry nearly as much as it should have. After all, Jane hadn't hurt him, and she obviously loved this man, so maybe he was nice too. Harry decided that he'd at least give the man a chance.

The jungle man turned back to Jane, and they continued their discussion. As they talked, their conversation got louder and louder, until finally it got loud enough that Harry could hear the man ask Jane, "He your nephew--you sure?"

"Yes, dear. He told me his parents were Lily and James Potter, but they died. He even described the castle perfectly. That must mean that Lily's and James' genes run strong in him. Besides, look at his eyes; they're just like hers. And that messy black hair is all James."

Then Harry heard something that made him miss part of the conversation. The man looked back at Harry, then turned to Jane and said, "He have magic?"

That word was one calculated to give Harry nightmares. One mention of it by the woman might have been ignored, but this was too deliberate. And they were referring to Harry himself. Of all the things that could upset his uncle, mentioning that word was the worst, and Harry had trained himself to not even think it in his head. Although, if any place were to look mag. . . mag. . . like _that word_, the castle that he had seen would be it.

Harry focused back on the discussion, seeing that, evidently, the two had reached a decision. His _uncle _set his _Aunt Jane_ (such strange concepts) down and approached Harry. Crouching down, probably to keep from intimidating him, he put out his hand and spoke. "Me Uncle Tarzan--You a Wizard, Harry."

oooooooooo

A/N: Thanks, as always, to my wonderful betas, rosiekatriona and sassyfrass_kerr, who turned this one around rather rapidly.

I must also note that the wonderful world of Tarzan belongs to none other than Edgar Rice Burroughs. And, in my opinion, the Tarzan series was much less interesting than the John Carter of Mars books, and the Pellucidar series.


	6. Part 6: The Force is Strong

**You're A Wizard:6: The Force is Strong  
**

Disclaimer: All I own are the plot bunnies, and ownership there is actually shared with my co-writer. Other copyrights are, of course, owned by their copyright holders, for details, see the A/N at the end. I make no claims to them.

Author's Note: My co-writer, sandyrah, sassyfrass, or sassyfrass_kerr, depending on the site, and I decided that we wanted to write a bunch of one-shots about how Harry COULD have been introduced to the Wizarding World, by other characters besides Hagrid. The only stipulation was that each one shot had to include the line: You're a wizard, Harry!

This chapter was submitted by a guest author, Galadriadhar, who happens to be the son of DukeBrymin. Go read Galadriadhar's stories, they're pretty good. DukeBrymin betaed this for him.

The Force is Strong

Mace Windu and Yoda walked and hovered down the Jedi Temple's hallway, respectively. They often took an hour or so to complete these trips, discussing the various goings-on in the Temple. This talk was primarily about Harry Potter, the newest Padawan taken by the renowned Jedi Kar-Noth-Varen. His abilities seemed to surpass even Yoda's. When a midichlorian test was administered, the count came back much higher than the highest theoretical number, which was twenty-one thousand. It was said that this number would occur in the "Chosen One" of Jedi lore. Yet, Harry, young Harry Potter, had nigh on thirty-three thousand seven hundred sixty midichlorians in each cell.

Mace Windu shook his head in amazement. How could one being contain so much potential without realizing it? For that is exactly what was happening. Harry had absolutely no idea how powerful he was. The closest anyone had come to having that much was the the legendary Force Wizard, Darknus Percikal Wolfirc Trian Dumbledore. The stories said that he measured twenty-five thousand six hundred forty-two midichlorians. But he was pure fiction, not even a theoretical being. Darknus was a bedtime story; nothing more.

He became aware that Yoda was talking to him. "Test this boy more thoroughly, we must. Train him specially we must, if a Wizard he is."

Mace nodded. "Yes, we must. But, how will we know that he is one?"

"Test him with the feats of Darknus, we shall. In one hour, come to the Council Room with him. Prepare the tests, I must." Yoda floated away on his hover chair, leaving Mace wondering how the Jedi would recreate the environment necessary to replicate the Wizard's feats.

*************************************************

One hour later, Mace strode into the Council Room with Harry in tow. As Mace walked to his seat, the Padawan stood in the middle of the room. Yoda cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him.

"Come here Harry has to be tested. Met here we have, to find out how powerful he is. Set up a series of tests, I have. To move these five hundred three ton blocks at once, his first challenge is. Now, start you may."

Harry concentrated, and in an instant, all the blocks were flying over the assembly. He built a tower in the air, and then slowly set the tower down. Harry smiled. Yoda stood.

"Passed the first test, you have. To animate all these blocks is your next task."

Harry frowned, but closed his eyes again. One by one, the stones grew arms and legs and began to walk around. Then, they began to attack and destroy each other, until all that was left was dust. Yoda looked at Harry curiously.

"Do that, why did you?"

Harry looked frightened. "You told me to."

"Tell you to do that, I did not. In my mind, I thought it. Read my thoughts, you did."

"How did I do that?" a nervous Harry asked.

Yoda sat on his chair. "Many midichlorians, you have. More even than me. Allowed you to read me, they did. The reason we are testing you, this is. Fewer than you the Force Wizard, supposedly had, though myth he is. Much more than him, you have. To know if you are a real Wizard, we wish. To find out, one more test we have. Teleport from the Library and back, you must."

Harry closed his eyes, readied himself, and vanished, only to reappear seconds later. "Madame Nu sent me back," Harry said. "I was making too much noise."

Mace Windu smiled, only to frown when the boy disappeared. "Where did he go?" he asked Yoda. The old Jedi gave a grim smile.

"To the dimension that needs him most, he has gone. The same thing to Darknus happened. Came here, he did, from another dimension. The Force Wizard legacy, continue it must in a new realm."

Mace was astonished. "You mean, Darknus really existed?"

"He did, yes. Wish for his secret to remain quiet until a new Wizard appeared if at all, he did." Yoda sighed. "Knew him, I did. Friends we were. Trusted me with many secrets, he did. Only to be revealed in time of need, they are. Fervently I hope to not have to share them."

On that, the Council dispersed. Mace walked away, wondering what secrets Yoda kept in his old heart. 'Come what may, I will accept it' Mace thought, and went to his duties, though the mysteries Yoda had spoken of never quite left his mind................

********************************************************

In the dimension between dimensions, Harry flew through a space that hurt his eyes with rapidly changing colors. After the colors, he saw a blue planet with white clouds and green earth.

'Earth,' a disembodied voice told him. 'My home.'

"Force Wizard?" Harry asked.

'Yes. But you are the Force Wizard. My spirit lives on in you.'

"Then..."

'Yes. You're a wizard, Harry.'

oooooooooo

A/N: The wonderful world of Star Wars belongs to none other than George Lucas.


	7. Part 7: The Goblin King

**Part 7: The Goblin King**

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter (that's JK Rowling's) or Labyrinth (that's Jim Henson.) I do however own the plot bunny (but even that's shared with DukeBrymin.

Thanks to my wonderful betas—RosieKatriona, and DukeBrymin—without whom this would make a lot less sense.

XXXXX

The young woman ran upstairs, tears in her eyes. She knew she wouldn't see her husband again, and that thought caused more pain than anything ever had, but she knew that there was nothing she could do. No, now her concern was for the child in her arms. She frantically tried to disapparate, but _he_ had put wards up to block it. She hurried into the nursery and shut the door behind her. There was shouting from downstairs. She heard a loud crash, then the thud of a body falling to the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps came up the stairs. She whimpered, knowing her husband was dead. If he were the one coming up, he'd be running, but the menacing slowness of the tread led to only one conclusion. She hugged her baby tightly for a moment, kissed his forehead gently, then placed him carefully into his crib. "I love you, Harry, always." She closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath, steadying herself. When she opened her eyes, they burned with a green fire. "I wish the Goblin King would come and take you away!" Then she turned to face the door. As it opened, she drew her wand, and squared her shoulders.

Far away, in the castle at the center of the Goblin Labyrinth, Jareth, King of the Goblins, felt magic shift. Some of his lesser goblins disappeared to investigate. Someone had wished away a child, and the magic of his kingdom had surrounded the babe. Nothing would hurt his new subject, until he had been fully claimed by the Goblin King.

XXXXX

The next day, strange men in red robes bustled about the building, an owl watching from his perch in a nearby tree. None of the men noticed the white bird, and even if they had, they wouldn't have thought much of it. After all, these were wizards, part of a small subsection of the human race who used wands to perform magic and owls to carry post. The other thing they didn't see were the small, lesser, goblins--what some called gremlins--who watched from the shadows, giggling and chattering softly. The barn owl watched too as the men murmured to each other about the findings of their investigation.

"There are definitely traces of three Unforgivables cast. But there is some sort of foreign magic, too. I can't quite categorize it, although, it is similar to the magic in Gringotts."

The barn owl ruffled his feathers, then resettled himself on his branch.

"Probably has to do with whatever it is the boy did to defeat You-Know-Who. After all, if we could figure out how to block a Killing Curse. . ." The man trailed off and his colleagues nodded in agreement.

"What happened to the kid anyway?" one of the rookies asked.

"I heard that Dumbledore's hidden him away. After all, some of the Deatheaters are still out there."

"Likely he has a ton of wards up around the boy, too. Won't anybody get near the kid without someone knowing."

The men were silent again, and the owl sidled along the branch. Finally he stretched his wings out and took to the air. None of the men paid any attention. It was, after all, just an owl.

Xxxxx

Almost ten years later, a barn owl circled the towers of a castle in Scotland. If anyone had looked closely, they would have remarked on the oddness of the owl's eyes, as one was green, and the other blue. Alas, no one did, as wizards and witches tended to ignore the minor things of their world.

Inside the castle, an older woman, gray hair wrapped in a tight bun, sat at her desk signing a series of letters. It was her job every year to send out the letters inviting the children to attend the next school year. Her favorite letters to sign were those of the incoming first years. It was nice to see which of her former students had children.

"Bones, Susan," the woman read a name on the list, "Nice family, pity about her parents though." She signed it with a flourish, and waved it off to the side, where it was magically stuffed into an envelope, and addressed by a blue quill. It then floated to the next owl in line. The owl took wing, and flew out her window, heading south. The owls lining the walls shuffled, as they waited patiently for their own letter. The Professor didn't pay any notice when the owl with the mismatched eyes flew in through the window, and took a perch.

"Malfoy, Draco," the woman made a moue of distaste, and sighed. "Maybe he won't be as bad as his parents.

"Potter, Harry," her eyes grew misty as she thought of the poor babe she'd last seen on the doorstep of his aunt's house, "finally, he can be back where he belongs, away from those Muggles!" She didn't notice the foreign barn owl's agitated twitch, nor did she see him jump his place in line to grab the Potter letter. The other owls muttered and hooted at the impertinence of this unknown owl, but didn't let it distract them from their task.

As the owl flew toward Surrey, he missed the Professor reaching the end of her list, "Weasley, Ron! Another one, poor Molly. But maybe he won't be as bad as the twins." She paused, then knocked on her wooden desk.

XXXX

The months leading up to his eleventh birthday were decidedly weird for Mr. Harry James Potter of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. It all started the last week of school. As he was walking home, keeping an eye out for Dudley and his friends, he thought he saw a small shape hide behind a tree. At first he shook it off as a figment of his imagination, or a dirt spot on his glasses. But then it happened again the next day, and the next. And during that whole week, Dudley never managed to find him alone.

When school finally let out for the summer, Harry was sent to work outside much more often than during the school year. Out in the garden, he sometimes felt as though someone were watching him, he kept seeing small shapes in the corners of his eyes, and there were a couple of times he could have sworn he heard someone giggle. It was a strange little giggle, sort of goblinish, like one of the fantasy movies Dudley watched once, before Aunt Petunia forbid him to "watch that sort of trash".

One particular day, about a week before his birthday, Harry was weeding the rose bed when a soft sound made him look up. It was the quiet hoot of an owl, a white and pale brown barn owl. Harry had seen pictures in a book of different owl species that he'd looked through at the school library. _Weird that it's out in the day,_ Harry thought. _Owls are usually nocturnal_. He examined what he could see of the owl quite carefully. It had something attached to its leg. At first Harry thought that maybe the bird had gotten caught in something, and that was why it was in the yard during the day. But when he moved closer, he saw that there was an envelope hanging from the bird's foot, and it seemed to have a name written on it. Squinting, Harry realized that the part of the address he could read said something very familiar: _Mr. Harry J. Po_. . .It was possible this letter, so strangely delivered, was addressed to _him! _He reached up slowly to the owl, not wanting to startle it. The owl seemed to eye him curiously, but before he could grasp the envelope, it hopped back, flapping away and landing on a branch of a nearby tree. Harry followed. This continued all the way to the park.

Finally, inside the small copse in the park, the owl landed on the picnic table placed there. Harry had long wondered why there was a picnic table there. He'd never seen anyone use it, aside from him that is. Maybe no one knew it was there, as the trees had grown quite a few branches. It was almost impossible to see the table from outside the copse. But that was a blessing as far as Harry was concerned. Dudley didn't know it was there, which meant that not only did he not vandalize the table, but that Harry could hide there and not get beaten up by Dudley's gang. Now he just thought it was interesting that the owl had landed on the table, and not in one of the tall trees surrounding him.

"Hello, girl," Harry said softly. The owl hooted at him, sounding indignant. "Not a girl?" Harry asked, a little surprised--_Did the owl understand him?_ "Sorry, boy," he amended. The owl settled its--his--feathers, and turned his head to the side. Harry looked, and saw another small shape hide behind a tree. One of those quiet giggles drifted through the air. The owl made an impatient sound, and Harry returned his attention to the odd bird. The owl lifted the leg that the letter was attached to, gesturing for Harry to come and take it. Harry walked closer, a little slowly, hesitant about the oddities of the barn owl. When he was finally near enough to the owl, Harry carefully untied the envelope and turned it over in his hands. He read the address:

_Mr. Harry J. Potter_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_Number 4, Privet Drive,_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

Suprised at the detail of the address, Harry glanced back at the owl, but he was uninterested, busy preening the feathers on one wing. Harry examined the envelope carefully. It was a rich, thick paper, far different than any he'd ever seen, not even in the craft cupboard at school. On the back, it was sealed with thick wax that had a strange picture stamped into it. Harry very gently peeled the seal up, unwilling to break such an odd and beautiful thing.

Harry read the heading of the letter, but it didn't make much sense to him. The rest of the letter didn't help. _A magic school?_ Harry thought, incredulously, _but I never even applied to a school, much less a _magic_ one!_ A strange sound made him look up. And there, perched elegantly on the picnic table where the owl had been, was the most bizarre looking man Harry had ever seen. And that included Halloween.

His hair was white blond, and even wilder than Harry's. His eyes were mismatched, one was blue, and the other green. His clothes were crazier than any costume Harry could imagine--full of sparkles, and shimmering jewels, and feathers, and spandex! Harry gaped at the man, absolutely astonished.

After a while, the strange man evidently tired of Harry staring. With a sound reminiscent of the owl, he spoke.

"Well, Harry, aren't you going to answer the letter?"

"Wha-I-h-how do you know my name?" Harry ignored the man's question in favor of his own.

"I've known you since you were a baby," the man shrugged. "I guess you could say I knew your parents."

"You knew my mum and dad!"

"Your mum, more precisely. In fact, she. . .entrusted you to my care when she died." Here Harry interrupted, in spite of the feeling he had that this wasn't someone you interrupted with impunity.

''Then why have I been with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon? Why didn't you get me? I know Aunt Petunia would jump at the chance to get rid of me! And what's your name?" Harry abruptly stopped talking. He wasn't out of questions, but, judging by the look on the man's face, _he_ was done listening to questions.

"My name is Jareth. You may call me. . ." Jareth tapped his lip thoughtfully, "_sir_. As for why I didn't come get you earlier, well, someone interfered. In fact, the headmaster of _that school,_" here Jareth gestured contempuously to the forgotten letter in Harry's hand, "ran off with you before I managed to reach you. He hid you behind wards that I haven't been able to breach until just recently. After all, an owl _had_ to be able to deliver your letter." He preened at his cleverness.

Harry stared at Jareth in amazement, then shook the parchment at him. "You mean that this is true?! Sir?" he added. "There really is a school for magic? And I'm really invited?" Jareth nodded. "But that means--that means that _I'm--"_ Harry broke off here, unable to voice such an incredible, wonderful idea.

"Yes, you're a wizard, Harry."


	8. Part 8: You Can't Spell Wrong

**Chapter 8: You Can't Spell "Wrong" Without "R-o-n"**

Disclaimer: All I own are the plot bunnies, and ownership there is actually shared with my co-writers. Other copyrights are, of course, owned by their copyright holders, for details, see the A/N at the end. I make no claims to them.

Author's Note: My co-writer, sassyfrass, and I decided that we wanted to write a bunch of one-shots about how Harry COULD have been introduced to the Wizarding World, by other characters besides Hagrid. The only stipulation was that each one shot had to include the line: You're a wizard, Harry! Great thanks go to my betas, sassyfrass and rosiekatriona. Enjoy!

oooooooooo

Molly Weasley was at her wit's end. The weather had turned warm, with the coming of spring, and the two of her children who were still at home were feeling the effects of having been cooped up too long in the house.

Ginny, her last child, and only daughter, only this morning had spent almost an hour trying to persuade her mother to take her shopping.

"But, Mum, you _know_ we need to get more fabric! I'm growing out of my dresses, see?" Ginny emphasized this complaint by raising her arms. Molly looked at the hem of the beautiful spring-green sundress and sighed. There was no way Ginny was going to be able to wear that article much longer. Her kneecaps were definitely visible, which was the usual measure of when Ginny needed new clothes, but even worse, her pale legs for a good three inches above the top of the kneecap were also there for the whole world to see.

"I see, Ginny dear. Do you have something else you can wear for right now?" Molly really hadn't planned on doing any shopping that week; Arthur's payday wasn't until the next Thursday, and their budget was rather tight already.

"No, Mum, this is the longest dress I have." An angelic smile appeared on the young girl's face. "I guess you could cut some of my pants into shorts, and I could borrow one of Ron's t-shirts."

Molly bit back the instinctive answer. She knew that the styles of the Muggles in Ottery St. Catchpole were more extreme than those of the Wizarding World, and had resigned herself to accepting Bill's long hair and earring, and Charlie's tattoos. But she wasn't so sanguine about letting her daughter get the idea to flaunt her long legs like some. . . She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Ginny wasn't anything like that—she just wanted to have some fun clothes to wear.

"All right, Ginny, go find a pair of pants that you would like made into shorts, and I'll see what I can do. But we can't go shopping until next Saturday, all right?" Thankfully, Molly was a very accomplished seamstress—she had to be, trying to keep her seven children in clothes on the small budget that she and Arthur had allotted for that purpose.

Ginny stood for a moment, mouth agape, shocked that her mother had actually agreed. Then, as if afraid that her mother would change her mind, she flew back upstairs to rummage through her bureau. As she did so, she thought to herself that this would be a good day to ask for that other thing, too, since it seemed her mum was in a lenient mood. And it's not like she didn't _deserve_ it. After all, she almost never got anything new, being the youngest child. Even the grand majority of her dresses and blouses had been handed down from other Wizarding families, or purchased used in McGillicuddy's Gently Used Robes and Consignment Shoppe. "Thank goodness," she thought, "that Mum won't buy used knickers." Giving a shudder at the idea of wearing someone else's underwear, she resumed her search.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed, as she pulled out the pair of denim jeans that she had been looking for. They were still large enough in the waist that she could wear them comfortably, and still in good enough condition to wear for the summer—assuming she didn't slide on the rock face into the pond again, and wasn't _that_ an embarrassing experience. The worst part, though hadn't been the rip in her pants, which her mum had easily mended. No, the worst was that Ron had seen it.

oooooooooo

Ron had spent the rest of the summer teasing her about her knickers, which, that day, to her eternal mortification, was the pair that had "I Love Harry Potter" written inside of little hearts all over the backside of them.

The teasing had eventually gotten so bad, that Ginny, in a fit of pique, had yelled, "But I _do_ love Harry Potter, and one day I'm going to marry him!" Terminally embarrassed at having shouted out her secret dream, she had turned bright red and fled to her room.

To say that Ron had had a field day with that would be an understatement. He, of course, had told all the others, even going so far as to send poor Errol to Rumania and Egypt to ensure Ginny's humiliation at the quills of her two oldest siblings. Scarcely a day went by that Ron didn't think up some mean remark to make Ginny blush.

"So, Ginny, have you set the date yet?"

"Aww, does ickle Ginnikins have her wedding dress all picked out?"

And, of course, his personal favorite, "Harry and Ginny, sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G!"

But then, one day, he went too far. Ginny had managed to force herself to the point where she just ignored the teasings as the immature, inane utterances of an utterly prattish brother. But then, deciding that it wasn't fun to tease the same way anymore, he had said those fateful words. "Ginny, why would the Boy-Who-Lived even want to be _friends_ with you, let alone marry you? You're covered in freckles, have knobby knees, and your hair is too orange. I'm sure he'd rather marry some exotic, black-haired, beautiful girl."

Ron had finally voiced what had been Ginny's secret fear, and she couldn't take it anymore. She burst into tears, not so much of sadness, but more of anger, although there was definitely broken-heartedness in there too, and performed the first feat of wandless magic she had managed since she was six and had turned Fred and George blue for scalping her favorite doll. Pointing an accusing finger at her brother, she gave a wordless scream of rage. A mustard-yellow light exploded from her fingertips, and hit Ron full in the face. A second later, his nose began to run, and then, shocking them all, the snot turned into little flying creatures that started attacking Ron's face and getting stuck in his hair.

Ginny was shocked—certainly she had _dreamed_ of being able to do some sort of disgusting curse that would be all hers, that no-one else would know how to do, but actually _doing_ it was another matter indeed. But her shock didn't stop her from instantly implementing Weasley Children Tactic Number Three. She ran, like a bat out of. . .well, she ran as fast as she could to the house, where her mother was kneading bread dough for the weekly baking. Deciding that this also called for WC Tactic #4, she burst into tears, threw her arms around her mother, and sobbed out, almost incoherently, "I'm sorry, Mum, I didn't mean to do it, but Ron made me so mad, and I just—I couldn't think, and then the light hit him, and his bogeys, and bats, and Mummy, _I didn't mean to!_"

Molly was not unaware of the tactics her children used to get their way. It was, after all, a rather rambunctious set of children she'd raised, and throughout the years she'd had to deal with a wide range of occurrences, but being _aware_ _of_, and being _immune to_ were two different things. And, to her secret shame, she'd always given Ginny just a little more benefit of the doubt than the others, because, well, there were only two of them, against seven men.

Molly quickly wiped her hands on her apron, cast a kneading charm on the dough, although it never turned out as well as when she did it by hand, and gathered up her daughter.

"Now, now, Ginny, what's the matter?" She sat down on one of the kitchen benches and placed Ginny on her lap.

Ginny had worked up a good set of tears by then, and continued blubbering as she told her mother what had happened. "Ron said—_sniff—_that Harry Potter wouldn't—_sniff—_want to marry me—_gasping sob—_because I have orange hair and ugly knees, and he probably wants his wife to have black hair!"

Molly wasn't surprised—she had watched Ron torment Ginny all summer, and had just about decided to step in, but it seemed that it had been taken out of her hands. "And, Ginny, what happened to him?"

Ginny sniffed again, and then told her mother about the accidental magic, although, she admitted to herself, it certainly _seemed_ to have been on purpose. Molly looked quickly at the Family Clock, seeing that Ron's hand was currently on Deservedly Suffering, and, relieved, pulled out one of her many handkerchiefs.

"Okay, Ginny, why don't you wipe your eyes, and blow your nose, and go up to your room for awhile while I deal with Ron, okay?"

Ginny nodded her acceptance, and headed up, while Molly went out to the lake to see if she could help Ron see what he had done wrong with his little sister, and, if necessary, add to his seemingly-never-ending list of punishments.

oooooooooo

Ginny shook herself out of her wool-gathering, and, shutting her bureau drawer, ran back downstairs to give her mother the jeans.

Ron was in the kitchen when she arrived, begging for biscuits, which wasn't very surprising.

"Here they are, Mum!" Ginny said, brandishing the pair of jeans like a banner.

"Wassat?" Ron asked.

"Ginny has outgrown her clothes, Ron, and I'm going to make those pants into shorts for her to wear this summer," Molly answered.

"You're letting Ginny wear shorts? How could you, Mum?" Ron asked, rather unwisely.

Molly's lips tightened into a thin line as she looked at her youngest son. Ron paled, recognizing Molly Weasley Look Number Three. Quickly running through the twins' advice in his head, he started stammering out an explanation. "But Mum, you never let Ginny wear shorts! It's indecent! What if some guy came and saw her legs?"

Ginny couldn't help it; she snickered. Luckily, neither of the other two heard it. She sat down at the table, content to take in the action. Ron had messed up—the only way to mitigate Look Number Three was to apologize to their Mum, instantly and sincerely, and then hug her for all they were worth. Ron had mistakenly jumped into the recommended behavior for Look Number Four instead, and this meant that fireworks were about to ensue, and his list of punishments was about to grow even longer.

oooooooooo

Next Saturday finally dawned, and Ron had worked off his list of punishments as well, so Molly took her two children shopping. One of her friends had mentioned that there was a really good fabric store in Surrey, with quality materials and good prices, so she decided to try that out. One dizzying Floo ride later, they were at the Arballos', which was the family closest to the fabric store that Molly knew. Ginny didn't know them, so she just greeted them politely and stood back.

Ron, on the other hand, ignored Mr. Arballo's hand and said, "Bloody blazes, you guys must be richer than Merlin!"

Molly immediately swatted the back of her son's head. "Ronald Bilius Weasley! Were you raised by savages? I can't believe you could forget your manners so appallingly! I did not raise a monkey! Now, apologize to Mr. Arballo. I never-- Just wait 'til--" Seeming to run out of epithets, Molly just huffed in indignation, apologized on Ron's behalf to her friend, and rushed her children out, not even giving Ron the opportunity to say anything more.

"Ronald! When we get home you are grounded for another week. I can't imagine what you must have been thinking to say that to Mr. Arballo. So what if he's rich, it's not something we need to point out. And did you ever think that, by doing so, you make us look poor? We're not yokels from the back country!" Just to make her point, she gave Ron another swat on the back of the head.

Ginny, who had been somewhat awed by Ron's ability to do the completely wrong thing at any time, snickered quietly and smirked at Ron when he turned his head to see what was going on. Ron turned even redder, and called her a rather nasty name, which, unfortunately, his mother heard, earning him yet another two days' grounding, and a forced apology to his sister on top of that.

After a ten-minute walk, they managed to find the fabric store, which, happily, was located right by a play park. The park looked somewhat shabby, but at least there were swings and a teeter-totter, and a merry-go-round. Animosity forgotten, Ron and Ginny immediately started imploring their mother to let them go play while she shopped for fabric.

"No, Ginny. I need you to come pick out fabric. It's _your_ clothing, isn't it?" Then, glaring at Ron, she said, with more than a hint of steel in her voice, "and no, Ronald, you can't go either. Who knows what you'll do—insult some Muggle pleaseman, no doubt, and get sent to jelly." With some more mumblings under her breath, she chivvied her children into the store.

oooooooooo

"Muuuuum, my feet hurt," Ron whined. "Aren't you done yet?"

Well practiced at ignoring whining children, Molly said, "Now, Ginny dear, we just need to find one more, then you can go play, all right?" Molly was pushing a cart that already had five different kinds of fabric. "I can't believe how cheap this fabric is," she had exclaimed, more than once.

Ginny was enjoying the shopping much more than Ron, although she sympathized with him about sore feet. There just seems to be something wrong with fabric store floors that makes it so that no matter how someone stands, their feet start to hurt, and Ginny and Ron were experiencing this phenomenon in full measure.

"How about this one?" she asked. "I really like the dark brown, and it would look beautiful with some of that cream lace on it. . ."

Molly looked carefully at the chosen material. "Yes, yes, I think that would be perfect. It's a good, sturdy fabric, and will wear very well. I'll make it with extra in the seams, so I can let it out as you grow, and it should be good for two, maybe three years." She thought for a moment longer, nodded decisively, and put the bolt of cloth in her cart. "All right, you two, you may go play. Remember to not call the other children Muggles, and no accidental magic. Do you understand?" Both children nodded. "Oh, and be sure to tell everyone that your mother is very close and coming to pick you up at any minute, okay?"

They nodded again, then shot out the door and over to the swings.

oooooooooo

Harry Potter was very grateful for this unforeseen chance to slip away. For some reason, Aunt Petunia hadn't loaded him up with nearly as many chores as usual this Saturday, and he was able to finish them rather quickly. Slipping his shoes off, and holding his pant legs up so they wouldn't scuff against the floor and alert anyone to his plans, he snuck through the kitchen and out the back door. Very carefully shutting the door, making sure to release the latch a little at a time, he tiptoed around the corner of the house. Out of sight of any of the windows, he put his shoes back on. Ahead was the last dangerous stretch in his escape. He had to make it around to the front of the house, and past the hedge that separated #4 Privet Drive from the equally boring, but slightly-differently-colored, #2 Privet Drive. Once there, he was all but invisible. Walking normally, as he'd found out by sad experience that running tended to draw attention that he didn't want, he closed the distance to the corner of the lot, and slipped out of sight.

Breathing a great sigh of relief, he continued on his way to the play park. He knew he wasn't really wanted anywhere, but at least at the play park he could usually find a corner that wasn't being used by anyone else. Once he'd even been able to swing for a couple of minutes before being sent away. Maybe today he'd be able to sit on the teeter-totter! Of course, he couldn't make it go by himself, but at least he could sit and pretend.

Arriving at the park, he scanned the grounds quickly to fix the locations of any quiet areas where he might be able to sit in the dirt and draw pictures. It wasn't as enjoyable as drawing on paper, but the kind of pictures he liked to draw invariably got him into trouble with the Dursleys, so it was better to draw them in the dirt, where no-one else would know what they were.

Today he decided he'd try to draw a flying motorcycle. It had been in his dreams lately, and he wanted to see if he could capture the feeling of freedom that came along with it.

Intent on his drawing, he was rather startled when an unfamiliar voice spoke behind him. "Watcha drawing?"

Harry jumped in surprise, and made to scuff his foot over the picture.

"Is that a flying motorcycle? How did you make it fly? Is it magic?" The tall, red-haired boy seemed to be genuinely interested in what he was seeing, but he had said that word—that horrible word that "no self-respecting citizen would have any truck with". And Harry had learned, through bitter experience, not to trust that anyone was as kind as they seemed. Time and time again someone had come over to talk to him, but then either never talked to him again, or taunted him just like all the others.

"It's nothin'," Harry mumbled. "I'm just messin' around."

The redhead continued on as if he hadn't heard. "Flying is great, isn't it? It's almost as good as Quidditch. What team do you support?"

"Ron!" came a strident voice a little way behind the boy. He jumped guiltily and looked around.

"Ginny! What do you want!?" He asked, a little rudely, in Harry's opinion.

"Ron, come play on the teeter-totter with me!" Harry didn't know the girl who had joined them. He supposed that she must be this Ron's sister, as her hair was red too, albeit much more fascinating than the boy's messy cut. But even though Harry didn't know her, he recognized a "you're in trouble" look when he saw it, and started backing away, afraid that he'd been the cause of it, and therefore likely to be punished.

Unluckily, he thought, the girl, Ginny, noticed his movements. "Oh, don't worry—Ron was dropped on his head when he was a baby and sometimes says things that no-one understands. Right, Ron?" The glare that accompanied this last question made it plainly obvious to everyone that Ron was to agree, shut up, and follow her to the teeter-totter.

Plainly obvious to everyone else, apparently, as Ron opened his mouth again. "No, Ginny, he was drawing a flying motorcycle, and you know Dad has the Anglia--"

"Ron!" the girl yelled. "Shut up!" Looking at Harry, she said, "I'm sorry, I need to talk to my brother for a second."

"O-Okay," Harry stuttered, not used to anyone apologizing to him. He watched as the little girl reached up, grabbed the boy's ear, and pulled him over to—not the teeter-totter, as he'd assumed, but a small bunch of bushes that was trying to masquerade as a copse of trees. He couldn't hear what they said, but it was obvious that she was really giving him an earful.

Harry shrugged. It probably wasn't worth the effort to worry about the two—once they found out who he was, they wouldn't want to talk to him either. So he wandered over to the fence and sat down against it. He didn't think he should draw the motorcycle again, that had caused too many problems. But maybe he could draw an owl—he had seen some owls flying around recently, in the daytime no less, and thought they were among the most beautiful animals he'd ever seen. Finding another stick, he started to sketch in the dirt.

Lost in his work, he was once again startled by the boy's voice. "Is that an owl? We have an owl, but he's rather pathetic. He takes four days to carry a letter to Charlie at the dragon preserve."

Harry knew the boy was taking the mickey, now. "Look, just. . .just stop teasing me, okay? I don't know about magic, or anything like that. I just like owls and, and motorcycles. And look! Your sister's coming!"

It was true—the girl, Ginny, was striding over to the pair of boys with a determined look on her face. But even more disturbing was the woman coming behind her. She was obviously the mother of these two, and by the look in her eyes, she was furious.

"Ronald Bilius Weasely! What in the world were you thinking? I should take you right home and ground you for a month! Those gnomes--" the lady turned white, looked at Harry, and changed what she was going to say. "Those weeds are taking over the garden, and I can think of nothing better for you than to have you weeding for the rest of the month!" And with that, she grabbed Ron's ear—the same one Ginny had grabbed—and started marching him back towards the store.

Ron didn't go without protest, though, and started yelling, "But, Mum, I'm sure of it, he's a wiz--"

But whatever Harry was or was not was cut off as a hand plastered itself firmly over Ron's mouth.

Harry stood and watched the couple move off, not noticing that the girl was standing rather close to him, watching him instead of her mother.

"Hi," came her voice, which, this time, was pleasantly soft, and, dare he think it, friendly? My name's Ginny. That was my prat of a brother, Ron—he just can't seem to do anything right. I'm glad I'm not him—that was Molly Weasley Look Number Seven, and it usually means at least a week of punishment."

Harry looked down at the girl's hand, which was extended to him. "Um, hi, Ginny. I'm Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry. Now, since I never did get to play on the teeter-totter, would you like to be my partner? I can't get it to go by myself, here, so I need some help." The smile on her face was, possibly, the nicest thing Harry had seen in a month of Sundays.

"Um, okay. I haven't ever done it myself, but I've seen how it's supposed to work. I think I can help you."

"Great!" she exclaimed, and still holding Harry's hand, she ran off, pulling him along with her.

The teeter-totter, Harry found out, was fun, as long as you remembered to catch yourself on the way down. Otherwise your bum got very sore. That lesson sank in after only two repetitions, and it was much more pleasant after that.

Ginny, on the other hand, was rather preoccupied. When Harry went down on his side, the resulting breeze blew his fringe up, and she saw something that looked an awful lot like a lightning-bolt scar. She couldn't be sure, since they were in motion, but she started to get a sneaking suspicion that this person was not just any Harry. And if she were right, she had a rather difficult decision to make. After all, she had idolized The-Boy-Who-Lived almost her whole life, and had developed a rather hearty crush on the mythical figure that he had become. So, part of her really wanted to blush, and stammer, and turn into a raging fangirl. But this wonderful, kind boy, with whom she'd been playing, was just Harry, who didn't know his own illustrious history; someone who looked like he needed a friend much more than he needed an admiring public. Now, Ginny was not dumb, regardless of what Ron said, and could visualize two different futures. The first, where she insisted on treating Harry as Harry Potter, and the second, where she befriended Just Harry, and helped him cope with the world that he'd be introduced to, willy-nilly. And, having seen those two disparate futures, she made her decision; Harry might be Harry Potter, but first and foremost, he'd be Harry, Ginny's Friend. With that resolution, she turned her attention back to their game.

After awhile, they decided to stop teetering and go over to the swings. As they walked over there, Ginny took a deep breath and asked, "Harry, what's your last name?" The anticipation just about killed her, and she _did_ feel herself getting lightheaded from not being able to breathe properly.

"Potter," Harry answered, and then Ginny knew.

"You're Harry Potter!?" she half-asked, half-exclaimed. "Then I _was_ right—that's a lightning-bolt scar on your forehead, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah—how did you know?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry, I've heard all sorts of stories about you—how you defeated You-Know-Who, and how you ride a dragon and have this beautiful sword, and how you can just look at the bad guys and they're so scared of your magic that they just faint! I've always wanted to meet you, and I never thought I would, and now, here you are, and you're so nice and. . ." Ginny trailed off, noticing Harry's stunned look and remembering her resolve to treat him like Just Harry.

"Ginny, you must have the wrong person. I'm not anything like that. I don't know what you mean by magic. My Uncle Vernon says that there's no such thing as magic." Harry imitated his uncle's stentorious bellow, which made Ginny giggle, a sound that Harry decided he liked very much.

"But Harry, you _were_ drawing a flying motorcycle, right?" Harry nodded reluctantly. "And haven't you ever done anything. . . anything strange? That you couldn't explain?"

Harry thought back to the occasional occurrences of strange behavior that might, just might, possibly be explained by magic. "Um, well, once I turned my teacher's hair blue, 'cause she wouldn't believe me about Dudley stealing my homework."

Ginny's smile turned, if possible, even brighter. "I _knew_ it was you, Harry. I just _knew_ it!"

"But, what does this mean? Are you. . .are you magic too?"

Ginny giggled. "Of course! I'm a witch. In fact, last week, I made Ron's bogeys turn into little bats that attacked him."

"So, I'm a witch too?" Harry asked, surprisingly not averse to the idea of being magical.

Ginny laughed again. "No silly, you're obviously not a witch. You're a wizard, Harry!"

oooooooooo

A/N: Thanks, as always, to my wonderful betas, rosiekatriona and sassyfrass.


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